


Runaway

by QuickWit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance, Sensitive themes, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 79,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickWit/pseuds/QuickWit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The triumph had come at a cost that for most was acceptable. But it nearly destroyed me. With time, though, I healed. For the first time since I discovered the world of magic, I was at peace. And then he arrived on my doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally archiving everything here.

Her fingers skimmed across the keys, an entire story printing itself before her eyes, a story she knew all too well for she had been the one to live it, and was now the one to tell it. She hadn't thought as she sat down and began to type, didn't spare a moment to wonder if telling this particular story was the best thing to do, because she knew it was.   
  
The man she wrote about deserved truth to his story, their story. She believed with all of her heart that people should know the facts behind so many misconceptions about him. And she seriously doubted there was anyone else who knew them better, nor was willing to tell them, as she.  
  
Anyone else would have worried for themselves, the trouble that writing such a story would bring to them, as the truths not only shed light on him, but told of some things that she had done that weren't necessarily legal. But she knew that persecution for her acts was not something she had to worry about. She was many things in her world; popular author, brilliant mind and war heroine, therefore she was immune to most of the charges that would have been brought down upon another. No Minister in their right mind would even attempt to seek trouble for her, lest they bring upon themselves the wrath of the public.  
  
So she wrote, putting her thoughts and memories into words. Telling his story, and a continuation of her own, so that all would know what he had risked, what they had shared, and what had been lost. He had sacrificed so much for her, the least she could do was share it with the world, make them see that he wasn't what they all believed him to be, that he never really had been.  
  
 _'I had found peace in my life for the first time since I could remember,’_  she wrote.  _'To think that I would have to lose everything before I could was absurd, but that is what happened. I'd watched my entire world crumble around me, watched everyone I loved fall to an evil so dark that the night itself feared him, and watched the final triumph of the light over said evil.  
  
The triumph had come at a cost however, that for most was acceptable. But it nearly destroyed me. I left it all behind, moving far away from those left that knew me personally, and mainly away from those that knew of my story, seeking a place where my damaged soul could recover. I found it and with time, I healed. For the first time since I discovered the world of magic, I was at peace.   
  
And then he arrived on my doorstep, the last thing I ever expected, bringing everything crashing back down and stirring up silt at the bottom of my serene lake. He threw in the pebbles, making me ripple, and although the ripples faded, and the surface is once more calm, he has forever changed me.  
  
Truths that I believed, that I would have staked my life on, were proven false. Prejudices held faded away as though they never existed. The impossible became possible, and I learned that nothing is ever as it seems. And things that I never even imagined in my wildest dreams became a reality. Things that years ago would have disgusted me, I now find myself craving. I was a changed person before he fell back into my life, and I am even more so now that he's left his pebbles at the bottom of my lake.'_  
  
She paused, re-reading the words and taking a deep breath. She had discovered long ago that it was better to simply allow the memories to play out, rather than even attempting to block them. They washed over her, stabbing at her heart, but cleansing her of the suffering at the same time. It was never easy, writing her books, because she wrote about what she had lived through, the events of her life, and rarely did they ever have a happy ending.   
  
Even though she was still relatively young, she'd seen and done things that people five times her age couldn't comprehend. She'd been through a war, right there in the thick of it, and she'd lost so many that she loved. Her life was one hell of a tale when down on paper, but each story it broke into had ended in tragedy and she doubted that she'd ever have a happy ending.   
  
As depressing as that was, it didn't bring her down. She had learned to accept such things long ago and she had learned to cope with them. It had been a long and difficult road for her, full of loss and heartache, but she had managed to find a peace within herself, suppressing the inner turmoil.  
  
The faces of all she had loved and lost flashed through her mind, before and after shots, their faces in death being the sights that haunted her the most. He was last, as always, and she still marvelled at how he seemed more peaceful moments after his death as she held him. Sighing, she shook her head of such thoughts. It didn't help any to dwell on what had happened when all she needed to do was write it.   
  
She turned her attention back to the typewriter in front of her and after a long moment of furrowed-brow contemplation, she withdrew the piece of paper from the contraption and scrunched it up, flinging it into the waste basket beside her desk. Forget the poetic sentiments; this wasn't a story for such things.   
  
When writing the novel that became the only trusted depiction of the second war and the life of her best friend, it had been normal to add in beautiful and meaningful words, to paint a bigger picture. With this story however, their tale, none of it was necessary, and he probably would have scoffed and snorted at it. It wasn't like him, therefore it wouldn't do to tell it like that.   
  
She simply had to tell the story without flourish of any sort, just as he would have wanted, so she let her mind take her back to the beginning.

  



	2. Isolation

I looked up from the typewriter in front of me, tearing my eyes from the paper and averting my gaze to the window directly in front of me. The rain was pouring down outside, making me shiver even in the warmth of my cottage, as memories of what seemed like another lifetime assaulted my mind.   
  
I shook my head, ignoring the eerie glow the lightning cast upon the muddy ground outside, and absently picked up the wine glass that sat at my elbow, sipping the deep red liquid slowly.  
  
It had been raining heavily for two days now, almost non-stop, and believe it or not, but I, Hermione Granger, hated nothing more than thunderstorms. It wasn't that I was afraid of them, it was just that there were too many memories associated with them, things that I would never forget, but would rather not think about. I used the feelings invoked by the rain however, to focus on my work, the book I was currently writing.  
  
I had been so pissed off with all the books released after the end of the war that I had given up and decided to write my own, a true to the core account of what happened, of what my best friend, Harry Potter, went through to make sure the world was rid of the evil that was Lord Voldemort. I could trust my own words to tell the tale, and so could the wizarding world, as I was there, whereas all those other jack-arse half-bit authors were not, even though they claimed to be. Lockhart's, all of them.  
  
Three full years had passed since the war had ended, since wizard-kind saw the final fall of the Dark Lord. But that stormy night at Hogwarts had also seen the end of the hero, who had fallen only moments after his foe to a killing curse to the back. I had witnessed the entire thing and it was not a moment I was likely to forget, nor let anyone else.   
  
A key player in the fall of Voldemort, I had seen many things I would rather forget. So many lives had been lost since the war moved into the open, just after Albus Dumbledore's murder: Harry, Ron, my parents, most of the Weasley's; all gone. And I had survived it, but I had yet to decide if that was a blessing or a curse.   
  
I was just nearing twenty-two years old and already I was one of the most respected figures in my world. Only, I didn't reside in that world anymore. After losing pretty much everyone I loved, I had walked away from it, not wanting to be constantly reminded of everything.   
  
For over two years I had lived as close to a muggle as a witch could get, the only signs of magic the moving pictures that I had built up enough courage to hang up, and the Daily Prophet that sat on my kitchen table, complete with it's highly amusing segment for 'Hermione Granger sightings'. Idiots, I've never been to Bristol in my entire life.  
  
Though, I wasn't all that close to the muggle world either. When searching for somewhere to rebuild myself I had found a small village in Scotland to stay for only a while, a place where no one would recognize me or know what had happened to me. Whilst there, I had been offered a cottage just a mile out of the village, surrounded by deep woods, for a reasonable price and had bought it.   
  
No one knew where I was, not even the few I trusted that were still alive. The only person I corresponded with was Remus Lupin and that was only a short note to and from each other every month or so. I would tell him I was alive and well and he would inform me of the happenings of the people I knew. But even he didn't know where I was, the only way he could send a letter was to send one back when I sent one with Hedwig.  
  
I liked that no one knew where to find me, it meant I didn't have to worry about seeing people from my past, something I didn't feel quite ready for. It had taken me a long time to even try and recover from my losses and experiences and finally, I was finding some peace in my life. And I knew I had the isolation in my beautiful cottage to thank for that, since it allowed me time to do the soul-searching I desperately needed.  
  
I stood and stretched, feeling my muscles and bones groan and crack in relief. I'd been sitting at my desk in the small spare bedroom for far too long and my body was starting to complain. Picking up my now empty wine glass, I left the room and walked down the short hallway, through the living room and to the kitchen where I poured myself another glass.  
  
At first, I had begged off alcohol, but when the town's barkeep had offered me a bottle of fine red wine from his brother's vineyard, I had taken it and drank the entire bottle in one sitting. What I discovered was both welcome and not, as I found out that after a bottle of wine I slept much better than normally, almost nightmare free. However, the resulting headache the next day had almost been enough to make me swear off it forever.  
  
That was until I heard Ron's voice in my head shouting, “Have you gone mad?! Are you a bloody witch, or not, woman?!” True, I had packed my wand and most of the other magical things I owned away in my trunk, shoving the box deep into the bottom of my closet, but if the wine helped my nightmares, and a hang-over potion helped my next day troubles, then I figured it was a win-win situation.   
  
I made my way back into the living room. Taking a moment to think I realized I really wasn't in the mood to get back into my writing, so I shuffled a grumpy Crookshanks out of my way and lay down on the couch. The cat glared at me for a moment, before making himself comfortable on my stomach.   
  
I truly did love my little cottage. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room with a massive fire, it was home. There was a small porch out the back door that I spent most of my mornings on, watching the sun come up over the thick mass of trees that surrounded my place and glistening off the small lake that sat in the clearing with the cottage. A dirt path made its way through the shrubbery, from the house to the village and I walked it once a week to stock up on supplies. It was my own little piece of heaven away from the hell that I had lived through.  
  
As I lay on the couch, gazing at the roof and listening to the rain, my mind travelled back to another dark and stormy night, one at Hogwarts, the place I had felt safest in the world. Harry and I had been in a guest suite going over some of the notes I had written down during our hunt. We were debating whether or not we should use the same potion on Voldemort as we had on the horcruxes, just to be safe.  
  
We hadn't been back to Hogwarts in a long time and it had been difficult for us to return, each stone in the great castle holding some reminder of our best friend and fallen comrade, Ronald Weasley. But after finding and destroying pieces of Voldemort's soul, we had hit a brick wall on how to get to Voldemort himself and had returned in the hope that we may be able to find some clue there. McGonagall had been happy to give us a room to stay in and full access to the castle.  
  
It had been bittersweet for us. The loss of Ron was still an open wound on both of our hearts, but neither of us could help the sense of returning home when we'd gotten back to the castle. We'd settled into the suite well enough, only leaving the room to go to the library or take a break from our work. When the storm had begun Harry had lit a fire for us and opened a bottle of firewhiskey as we continued to go over the notes.  
  
With the help of the alcohol, our mission related discussion faded away and the topic turned to casual seriousness. He'd asked me what I was going to do with my life if I survived. The question had taken me off guard and I'd had to think about it. It had been the first time I'd thought about it in a very long time. After I'd found out about the prophecy I'd forced myself to come to terms with the fact that I may die in the war, therefore I'd never thought about what I'd do if I didn't.  
  
I said as much to Harry and he told me he knew that feeling well. We both sat silently thinking for a long time as the storm raged on outside and then he'd said that he didn't want to be an Auror anymore, he had done his part in chasing dark wizards and if he survived he wanted a more relaxed life. He had no idea what that life may be, but he certainly wanted to do something easy and carefree.  
  
I didn't know what I'd want to do either. I hadn't really thought about a job before all the excitement. We talked for hours, sharing the bottle of firewhiskey as the storm continued. The events of that night had been some of the best and some of the worst.   
  
It had been a relaxed night for us, the first we'd had for as long as we could remember. But it had all been shattered by a scream that had rang all around the grounds and the castle. Without even seeing the green glow in the sky, both Harry and I knew it had begun. That night would decide the world's fate.  
  
And it did. The battle was bloody and ferocious, with both Death Eaters and defenders falling in the fight under a raining sky. The Hogwarts defenders were made up of the Order, dozens of Auror's, and the older students of Hogwarts.   
  
Leading them were Harry and myself, both on a determined path towards the reason for this entire fiasco. He had laughed when we reached him, a chilling sound, and then the fate of the world had tipped back and forth on the scales for hours as Harry and Voldemort duelled.   
  
Myself and a few old friends from the DA, along with Remus and some others, held off the Death Eaters, so that Voldemort wouldn't get any help from his followers. It was a long time later that an inhuman cry echoed over the battle field. All spell fire had immediately ceased as every eye had turned to its source. Lord Voldemort was on his knees, and his body seemed to be crumbling from the inside out.  
  
Harry was standing over him, his wand pointed at where his black heart would be. Everyone watched with a touch of shock as Voldemort deflated, his skin and flesh being sucked inside of him. With one more flick of the wood in his hand, Harry muttered another dark and powerful spell that I had taught him and the Dark Lord erupted in flames, another scream ripping from his throat.  
  
It was only moments until there was nothing more left of Tom Riddle than a pile of ashes. The shocked silence stretched out before the Death Eaters started coming to their senses, realization that their master had been destroyed, at least momentarily to their warped minds, and began to flee from the scene as quickly as possible. One hesitated, his anger and disbelief stronger than that of the others, and he raised his wand at Harry's back.  
  
I didn't even have time to scream, let alone help in any way, as Lucius Malfoy sent the killing curse at Harry before reaching for a portkey he'd brought with him and escaping, thirty or so spells crossing in the air where he'd just stood. But I didn't have time for the anger of the Auror's at the scene due to losing a criminal. I raced to the fallen Harry and turned him over.  
  
His eyes were cold and lifeless and it struck me harder than a bludger to the stomach that my best friend, the only person left in my life that I loved without pause, was gone. He had done what this world asked of him and then his life had ended. I put my hands on each side of his face, staring into his emerald green eyes for what I knew would be the last time and broke down.  
  
My hands slid to his neck as my head dropped to his chest, my entire body shaking with the force of my sobs. For at least half an hour, with cold rain pouring down on us, everyone gave me room to grieve over his body as people began clearing the other bodies away, showing all the deceased defenders the respect they deserved, and treating the wounded. I was past the point of sobbing and in full blown mourning by the time Remus had come to my side.  
  
Gently, his own heart broken, he had lifted me from the ground and held me on my feet as the two of us stood back and watched. The Ministry's coroner had come in, his team prepared to take Harry's body, but Neville Longbottom had come forward and stopped them.   
  
Together with Fred and Bill Weasley, and Seamus Finnegan, they'd lifted the body onto a conjured board, giving him the hero's respect that he deserved, and had carried him towards the castle on their shoulders, where he would stay in the hospital wing until a funeral was arranged.  
  
Lying on the couch in my cottage I closed my eyes and pushed away the memory I'd just re-lived as forcefully as I could. I was slightly angry with myself that I'd just walked through every moment of that dreadful night once again, thinking it was bad enough to have to go through it when I was asleep and trying to keep those thoughts out of my mind while awake.  
  
I lifted my glass to my mouth and downed some of the sweet liquid, giving my taste buds only a little time to absorb it before swallowing heavily. A loud banging on the front door made me sit up quickly, knocking Crookshanks from his perch. I placed the glass on the coffee table and stared at the door, unsure if I'd heard an actual banging, thinking that perhaps it was some thunder or something.   
  
Standing slowly, I moved closer and the banging repeated, startling me so much that I jumped. I never got visitors, not one in the entire time I'd been in the cottage and I liked it that way. But anyone would be crazy to show up at this time of night and especially with a violent storm raging.  
  
Slowly, I walked to the door and unlocked it, then twisted the knob and brought the large slab of thick wood back towards me. The sight before me was even more shocking than a visitor currently being at my door. Someone was kneeling in front of me, soaking wet with a pool of blood beneath them darker than my wine.  
  
When the stranger looked up at me, my blood ran cold and my heart almost stopped in surprise. The hood attached to the robe he was wearing fell back to reveal scruffy platinum blonde hair. His grey eyes held pain and pleading when he met my gaze, the disbelief plainly showing on my face.  
  
I couldn't speak as he raised one cold, blood covered hand and said so weakly that the words were almost swept away with the storm, "Granger, help."   
  
I still couldn't move or process what was going on as Draco Malfoy collapsed in a bloody heap at my front door.

  



	3. Visitor

I stood there for a long while in complete shock, just looking down at the unconscious form in front of me. Draco Malfoy was dying at my feet. Then it hit me: he was dying. I kicked into action and raced for my room, wrenching the closet door open and pulling out my trunk enough so that I could open it. When I saw the wand lying there on a jumper Molly Weasley had made me years ago, I hesitated. It had been so long since I'd touched it.

Shaking my head, I picked it up and the tingle that rushed through my body made a thousand memories flash through my mind. Shoving them out with the forceful thought that Malfoy was bleeding to death while I was reminiscing, I stood, making my way through the cottage quickly and back to the front door. 

Again, I paused. The sight of him there and the feel of the wood in my hand was enough to make my heart race. Reluctantly, I pointed my wand at his body and for the first time in years allowed the magic to flow through me as I muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

He lifted into the air limply and with careful precision, I moved him through the doorway, his head only hitting something solid once (it had been a long time since I'd done magic, my aim was a bit off). Manoeuvring him over to the couch was much easier and I dropped him onto it, briefly wondering if I'd be able to completely remove the bloodstains he would leave.

With a flick of my wand, he was in nothing but a pair of cotton briefs so I could get a better look at his wounds and the sight that I faced made me gasp. The majority of his body was smeared in blood and judging by how pale he was, even for him, I could tell he'd lost a hell of a lot. There was a deep gash from his collar bone to his hip and his left leg was obviously broken, the bone breaking the skin and his knee ... Merlin, his knee was completely smashed.

I stood over him, shaking for a long moment, trying to recall every lesson I'd ever had with Madame Pomfrey during the war, needing to remember everything she'd taught me about healing. Dropping to my knees beside him, I raised my wand again. The first thing I needed to do was stop the bleeding. 

Before I could begin, cold fingers wrapped around my wrist, halting my movements. Shocked, I looked up to see his grey eyes open and looking at me intently. I could tell by his gaze that it was a struggle for him to keep awake and his voice was hoarse when he spoke, “What are you doing?”

Frustrated and more than a little annoyed that the serenity of my home had been broken, I snapped at him, “Do you want my help or not? As much as I would love to let you bleed out on my furniture, I can't. I have to stop the bleeding before I can even think of a way to get you to St. Mungo's.”

“I'm not going to the hospital,” he stated, releasing my hand, but keeping a firm eye on me as I went to work on the gash. “If I go to Mungo's I'll be in a Ministry interrogation room by morning.”

“What makes you think you still won't be in an interrogation room tomorrow morning? What's to stop me from handing you in?” I inquired, venom lacing my tone as I conversed with my school-time nemesis.

He laughed, but it turned to a groan as pain struck him. “You going to give me up to the authorities, Granger? You know that if you do that I'll die. They'll give me to the dementors for the kiss, that's if I give them the information they want. And if I don't, they'll let some half-bit Legilemens rip my mind apart. Either way I'll end up a disgusting shell.”

“And, pray tell, why do I give a damn what they do to you, Draco Malfoy?” I growled. I was having difficulty pressurizing the wound, probably because my nerves were shattered and I couldn't completely focus on the task at hand. “I'm not exactly your best friend.”

He looked down at me, and although I was avoiding his gaze, trying to concentrate on my wand movements instead, I could feel his eyes studying me. When I didn't look up, he spoke, his voice quieter than I ever remember hearing it, “Because you know I'm not like that, you know I'm not one of them.”

A memory flashed through my mind, one of a war-torn battlefield, lifeless bodies lying everywhere, spell-fire shooting all around, cries and shouts echoing throughout. The final battle raged all around me as my comrades and I fought to keep Harry relatively safe in a one-on-one duel with Voldemort. 

There was a moment that I almost knew I was dead. Antonin Dolohov, a man whose path I had crossed before, had his wand pointed directly at me, the first half of the killing curse spilling from his lips lovingly. 

I had but an instant to prepare myself and made the decision that I was going to face my own death head on. So I refused to remove my eyes from the Death Eater. When he slumped to the ground before he had a chance to finish the curse, I was shocked and relieved, my heart beating so fast that I thought I may pass out. 

And then I saw him, not three meters behind Dolohov's form, his wand still pointing at the ground where the Death Eater lie, his chest rising and falling heavily. Malfoy quickly pocketed his wand and after we shared a very brief moment of eye contact, he slunk away into the shadows, hoping not to be seen by anyone else. 

The memory was instantaneous and gone only a moment after it began. He had saved my life that night, but I was in no mood to thank him or even be civilized. “Do I?” I asked harshly in response to his comments, my spare hand moving to grip his forearm tightly. I turned my angry gaze to meet his eyes and continued, “From what I recall, Draco Malfoy, you are exactly like that. And this mark here,” I raged quietly, pointedly squeezing the place where an imprinted black skull still lingered, “proves it. That and everything I remember from my time at school. You're a pureblood elitist, and a Death Eater.”

He remained silent as I turned back to his injury, pleased with myself since the blood had stopped flowing and I went to work on cleansing the wound. We both knew the truth in my words, and I figured he was too tired to argue with me. Neither of us spoke as I sanitized his injury and once it was done, I sealed it and didn't mind in the slightest as his face contorted with pain at my actions.

It wasn't a healer’s work, but it would do the job. He wouldn't die from blood loss or infection, though it was going to scar badly. That didn't bother me and I didn't really care if it bothered him. I stood and walked down to the foot of the couch where his broken leg lay. 

What came next was not going to be pleasant for either of us. Though I must say I was much better at setting broken bones than healing massive gashes, as I'd done it more often. Harry and Ron always used to break something on our trips, whether it was a finger or an arm.

Once more, I used my wand on the area of his shin that had his bone poking through and cleansed it, then I reached down and positioned my hands. He didn't need to be warned, he knew what came next. There was a loud crunch and he couldn't help but cry out in pain, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly and tears of pain falling down his face. After a moment where I let him recover, I inspected my work. It was enough, the bone was back where it should be at least. 

“How'd you find me, Malfoy?” I questioned as I began sealing his leg with my wand.

His teeth were clenched from the pain and his entire form was shaking uncontrollably, but he managed to answer. “It wasn't bloody easy. I had to follow that darn bird for weeks before I was able to catch it ... attached a locater charm and it led me back here.” He paused for a moment and I looked up to see him staring at me intently again. “My father wants you dead, Granger,” he finally informed me and I took in a deep breath sharply. “You were lucky it was me he asked to find you.”

Instantly I stood up and walked into the kitchen where Hedwig was napping on her perch. I had no doubt that if Malfoy could get up, he would be gone by the time I got back, but that didn't matter. I muttered a few revealing spells and found the locater, removing it as quickly as I'd found it with shaking hands.

Slowly, I walked back into the living room and stood at the edge of the couch, looking down at him, certain that I was probably about as pale as he was. “Who else knows where I am?” I asked, unable to keep the fear from my voice.

He met my eyes, and the truth was shown in them before he even spoke. “No one,” was his honest answer and I was able to breathe again.

Nodding, I knelt beside him once more and my wand tended to his knee, which was no easy task. I doubted it would ever heal properly. After much silence, I broke it, my voice quiet and curious, “Why didn't you tell him?”

He gazed at me for a long moment before closing his eyes again. “Because I'm not like them,” he said with such force I had to look at him again. His face was a stone, his eyes still shut, but there was a slight twitch in his jaw and I wondered if he were angry at me or them.

Neither of us spoke as I finished working on his injuries, setting the knee as much as I could, well aware of the limp he would probably have for the rest of his life. Once it was done, I immobilized his entire leg so that he wouldn't be able to damage it any further. I stood, examining my work and once I was satisfied, I muttered, “See if you can sit up,” before I walked from the room and towards the bathroom.

I fished the largest bandage I could find out of the first aid kit and returned to see him in quite a struggle. Placing the packages on the coffee table beside my abandoned wine glass, I leaned down and placed my arm around his back, helping him into a sitting position, his leg straightened out, unmovable, before him. 

Once more I knelt in front of him, reaching over and grabbing the bandage, tearing it from its wrapping. I moved him forward a bit so I could get to him and began wrapping it around his body, covering his gash. He watched me quietly and when the entire thing was covered, white bandages all around his torso, he asked quietly, “What's the diagnosis?”

“You'll live,” I answered, catching his eyes. I stood again, breaking the contact and picking up the wand I had left discarded on the coffee table. When my eyes caught the wine, I picked up the glass and downed it, closing my eyes and savouring the calming effect alcohol had on me.

His face was curious when I placed it down and I know he wanted to make a smart-arsed crack about me drinking, but was holding himself back. When I pointed my wand at him, his eyes widened momentarily, before I muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

He rose into the air and I began moving him through the house and into the spare room, where I flicked on the lights and dropped him onto the bed, making him wince some more. Pulling the blankets back, I made him lie down and covered him. I was about to leave and let him sleep when his cool hand was once more around my wrist. 

With a start, I looked at him and was shocked to see the worried expression in his eyes. His voice matched his face when he spoke, "Granger ... you aren't going to hand me in, are you? You aren't going to let them kill me?"

Honestly, I didn't have an answer for him, since I hadn't really thought about it all that much. I needed time to process what had happened before I made a firm decision. Thinking to myself for a moment, I met his eyes and warned, “Not yet.”

That seemed fair enough for him as he nodded and dropped his head to the pillow, closing his eyes and releasing his hold on me. I watched him as he fell into an exhausted slumber for a while before quietly leaving the room, casting a powerful locking charm on the door behind me even though I knew he'd never make it that far. 

My thoughts were a jumble as I made my way to the laundry where I'd vanished his clothing to. I searched his pockets before throwing the bloodstained material into the machine. I didn't find much, a few galleons, a few pounds and his wand, nothing else. Lucky he was in dark clothing, bloodstains are hell to get out, was one of the many pointless thoughts that absently crossed my mind, still not really capable of processing more serious things. 

I went back to the living room and cleaned up there, rather frustrated at how many scourgify charms it took to get the blood out of my carpet and couch, before making my way into the kitchen where I pulled out my old cauldron and my stock-pile of ingredients. I had a lot of thinking to do, but I also had to make a few potions. It was going to be a long night and I doubted I would be able to get any rest at all knowing that Draco Malfoy was sleeping just down the hall.


	4. Veritaserum

As I'd predicted, there was no sleep for me that night, even after my potions were done. My mind kept mulling over everything that had happened and all that had been said last night. I was now faced with two choices: hand Malfoy over to the authorities, or let him stay in my peaceful little cottage with me. The latter was not a choice I was all too fond of.  
  
But then, I knew I owed him, a life debt in fact. If he were to be believed about what he said when he told me that Lucius wanted me dead and he hadn't given them my location, that was twice he'd saved my life.   
  
He'd protected me from two evil men in two different times now and for that I really was thankful. The only problem with letting him stay with me was that I would be breaking the law by harbouring a wanted criminal and ... well, he was Malfoy and if he stayed I'd have to spend time with him.  
  
There was really only one way to know if he wasn't completely bullshitting me and that's why I made my way to the spare room the next morning with a tray of food. Opening the door, I saw he was still fast asleep, so I moved aside some of my work and placed the tray on the desk. I reefed the curtains back, allowing sunlight to spill in and over him and was glad that it had the desired effect when he started groaning.  
  
“Wake up, Malfoy,” I commanded, standing over him.   
  
He groaned again, before his eyelids fluttered then opened completely. He looked up at me with bleary eyes, raising a hand and rubbing at them. After blinking a number of times, he seemed to finally focus and gave me a disgusted glare, obviously not happy with this approach to the morning.  
  
I smirked and walked back to the table, raising the tray again as I watched him struggle into a sitting position. I lay it across his lap and couldn't believe it when he mumbled, “Thank you.” Shaking my head, I wandered back to my desk, pulling out my chair and sitting down, watching him closely.  
  
He picked up the cup of potion that was also on the tray and looked at me questioningly. “Blood-replenishing potion,” I told him. “I made it last night. Drink it, you'll recover faster.”  
  
Malfoy did as he was told and downed it, screwing up his face afterwards and wiping at his chin. “That's foul,” he commented, and immediately picked up the coffee that was beside the vial, drinking a few quick gulps of the hot liquid. When he placed the mug back down he shook his head, “So is that.”  
  
I didn't really give a damn what he thought of my coffee, because he'd drank it and that was the important thing. Oh, did I forget to mention I spiked it with veritaserum? Well, I did and after giving it a few minutes to take effect, in which he munched on the toast I'd given him, I said, “I have quite a few questions, Malfoy.”  
  
He nodded, swallowing the mouthful he had and saying, “I thought you would. Although I'm surprised I'm not in a Ministry holding cell right now.”  
  
It was one of the oddest experiences of my life, having Draco Malfoy lying in my spare bed, eating the breakfast I had made him, and talking to me in a civilized manner. Deciding to keep as much peace as possible, I asked, “Are you feeling any better?”  
  
“Well, last night I was dying, and now I'm not, so I guess you can say I'm feeling better,” he grumbled then bit into his second slice of toast.   
  
I watched him thoughtfully for a while before asking the question that had been ringing through my mind all night, “Why did you come here, Malfoy?”  
  
He sighed heavily, before shaking his head and stating, “I had to escape my father and this is the only place that I thought I may stand a chance. He wants me dead, he wants you dead, we're in the same boat. He doesn't know where this place is, no one but us know where we are. I couldn't go to Hogwarts or the Ministry ... I couldn't, can't go anywhere else. This place ... you were my one hope; I didn't think you would give me up without giving me a chance to explain first. You're far too humane for your own good, Granger," Draco explained. When it dawned on him how easily and honestly he was answering my questions, he glared at me coldly, “Veritaserum?”  
  
I shrugged. “Would you have expected any less?” was my reply, knowing that it explained everything to the both of us.   
  
His gaze was still cold and hard, but he shook his head, “No, but that doesn't mean I like it.”  
  
“Of course not. Now, why does your father want you dead, Malfoy? Why were you attacked last night?”  
  
Now that he was aware of the potion, I knew I only had a limited amount of time to question him. He fought the effects for a moment before reluctantly answering, "Because of you. My mission was to track you down, find you so that he could send people to kill you. I've known where you were for a while now, but I kept stalling, telling him I was having trouble finding you. Yesterday, he discovered that I'd been lying to him, I was to be executed for defying him."  
  
My eyes widened, now knowing that I was the reason for his near-death experience and being utterly shocked by it. Still, time was running out so I mentally shook off the surprise and asked, "Why were you protecting me, Malfoy? I'm a mudblood who you claim to hate, why would you put your own life at risk to save mine?"  
  
“I told you last night, I'm not like them. I'm not a killer and if I'd told him where you were it would be just as bad as me pointing my wand at you and murdering you myself. I won't do that,” he answered glumly.  
  
I mused, “I never would have pegged you for a closet good guy, Malfoy.” But I still don't know if that statement was exactly true. The man in front of me was not the boy I knew at school. The years had changed him as they had me, but where I'd found peace, he'd found a life that depressed him beyond belief. _More questions,_  I reminded myself and continued, “Why does your father want me dead?”  
  
“He wants to be the next Dark Lord ... you are a prominent figure in the side of light, you were key in Potter's victory. He knows that you would be a great threat to him if he were to rise to power, so he figured he'd knock you off beforehand,” he informed me and the words made me shudder.  
  
Lucius Malfoy, the next Dark Lord? The great wanker, he was a half-bit wizard in the least and wasn't nearly as intelligent enough to take over the world; I wouldn’t have called him stupid, but he certainly wasn’t at an evil genius level. He was a Voldemort wanna-be and didn't stand a chance with or without me.   
  
Shaking my head, I went on, knowing that the next question had to be asked, “How far has he gotten in his plans?”  
  
“He's been rallying support amongst many of the Dark Lord's old followers, the one's that weren't captured or convicted. They're willing to follow him, if only because he was the one that got Potter in the end. He's got money and followers, some of them very loyal, but so far he's still in his initial planning stages.”  
  
I openly winced at the reminder of Harry's death, but ignored the knife stabbing away in my stomach and spoke, “For all these years since it's ended he's been working then. I wouldn't be surprised if he had ideas about it when Voldemort was still alive.” I shook my head and realized out loud, “I'm going to have to speak with Remus Lupin.”  
  
“Are you going to tell him I'm here?” he asked, a touch of fear entering his voice at having to confront the 'half-breed'.  
  
I looked down at him, surprised to hear his voice as I'd been talking to myself. “I trust Remus. I'm willing to tell him everything. The question is, do I ask him to keep it quiet that you're here or not? And I can't honestly give you an answer to that, Malfoy. I'm not comfortable having you in my home. But ... I do owe you,” I admitted reluctantly, but quickly followed it up with, “That won't stop me from cursing your arse and posting you to the Ministry wrapped in a bow, however. I'm judging you on your actions, Malfoy, from here on out. Don't give me a reason to let them kill you.”  
  
With that warning, I stood and walked to the edge of the bed, absently checking the bandages and taking the near empty tray from him. “Try and get some more rest, let the blood-replenisher do its job. I'm going into town today, do you want anything while I'm there?”  
  
Damn my civilized nature. I wanted to be harsh and cruel to him, but I simply couldn't, knowing all he had risked and why he had done so. He was settling back into the bed and looked up at me, surprised by the question. “A packet of cigarettes would be nice.”  
  
Now that surprised me. “You smoke? How muggle of you, Malfoy. You know those things will kill you?”  
  
He shrugged, his eyes drooping, “I'm counting on it. I don't have all that much money, Granger, but there should be enough for a packet in my pants ... wherever they are.”  
  
Malfoy was already falling asleep, so I only answered quietly, “It doesn't matter, I have more than I'll ever need,” and walked from the room. It was true; I did have more than I'd ever need. No, I didn't have a job, and I hadn't yet sold my book as it wasn't finished, but I had enough galleons to feed a small third world country for a year.  
  
After Harry's death, I had inherited everything. He left me his owl, the houses and properties he owned, along with his entire inheritance from his parents and Sirius. With interest, the pile of gold in my vault at Gringott's just kept getting bigger and bigger, and even though I didn't want the money, I knew I'd never have to worry about going broke. Much of it had been donated to post-war charities, but still, there was more there than one person alone should have.  
  
Closing the bedroom door behind me, I made my way to the kitchen where I wrote a short note to Remus, informing him that he would see me soon as I had something to tell him. I attached the note to Hedwig's leg, but was hesitant to send her out. After what Malfoy had told me the previous night, I'd gone through a number of my old charm books and now no one on Earth had a chance of catching the owl again, let alone placing a locater on her, but still, she meant an awful lot to me.   
  
I watched as she flew out the window and then went about preparing for a trip to town. I trudged to the village through the mud left by the nights storm and when there, bought double the usual amount of food I got when I was alone, my bottle's of wine, all the other supplies that would be needed, including a stock of bandages, and even though I'm one hundred percent opposed to the habit, a packet of cigarettes.   
  
The trip back was slow because I took my time. Idly, I thought the mud under my feet was much like what was in my mind at that moment. In less than twenty-four hours everything in my life had spun around.   
  
I was no longer alone, Draco Malfoy was in my house being a civilized guest; I had to return to the wizarding world, however briefly; and the senior Malfoy wanted me dead. All I'd wanted was to live out a peaceful existence in my little cottage far from the life I once knew, but now that had been taken from me.   
  
A brief flash of anger shot through my veins at Draco until I realized, and however grudgingly admitted to myself, that this time, it wasn't his fault. I sighed, knowing I had no choice but to make the best of a bad situation. For now I'd allow him to stay with me while he healed and wouldn't inform the authorities of his location.  
  
It was a beautiful day, I noticed when I pulled myself out of my thoughts. The sun was shining, flickering through the leaves of the trees that hung over and around the path, hitting my face in places and the smell of rain from the night before still lingered in the air. Not that the rain was needed, everything in these parts was always green. It was still as peaceful as ever, even if it wasn't the same story inside the cottage.   
  
Getting home I placed my packages on the kitchen table, pulling out one of the rolls of bandages and the cigarettes, walking back into the spare room. Malfoy was awake again, absently staring out the window. He looked terribly depressed, and to be honest, I couldn't blame him. His own father had ordered his death, after all.  
  
I had to speak to make my entrance known. “I have to change your bandages,” I commented, tossing him the cigarettes. He caught them with the reflexes of a Seeker, immediately ripping into them until I scolded him, “Not in my house, you don't, Draco Malfoy.”  
  
“What did you buy them for if you weren't going to let me smoke them?” he snapped, taking turns to glare at me and the packet in his hand.   
  
Rolling my eyes and rubbing my temples, I sighed, “I'll take you outside then. There's a bench on the back porch, you can smoke there and I can change your bandages at the same time.”  
  
Then I pulled my wand out of my back pocket and levitated him, tossing off the duvet. He only growled at me once for hitting his head against the wall on the trip out and I just smiled sweetly and shrugged, which led to a number of unsavoury things muttered under his breath.  
  
Once outside, he lit up straight away while I began unwrapping the used bandages and checking the wound. I was proud of my own handiwork, as things seemed to be progressing nicely. “I'm going to Hogwarts to see Remus tomorrow,” I informed him as I began re-wrapping with the fresh cloth.  
  
He glanced at me, exhaled a cloud of the vile smoke and asked, “You going to ask him to keep quiet?”  
  
I nodded, “I am. In fact, I'm going to see if he knows of somewhere we can hide you.”  
  
“Sick of me already, Granger?” He was smirking, which always had the effect of infuriating me.  
  
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I snapped “I was just sorting myself out, Malfoy, just getting over everything that's happened to me, finding some peace in my life. Now you've gone and messed that up for me. I won't hand you over, even though a large part of me is screaming to leave you to the dementors, but I don't want you staying here.”  
  
He was glaring at me again. “Well, I'm bloody sorry, Granger. I should have just let my old man kill me, rather than moving in on your personal space.”  
  
We stared each other down for a long moment, old rivalries resurfacing just as I knew they would eventually. I was the first to look away, focusing instead on wrapping his bandage and then sealing it with probably too much force, taking a little bit more pleasure in his wince than I should have.   
  
If he stayed with me I was sure that we'd end up killing each other before Lucius even got close. I just hoped Remus had some place for him.

  



	5. Hogwarts

Hogwarts hadn't changed. That was the first thought that went through my head as I apparated to the gates and turned around, seeing the castle for the first time since I'd left. The great fortress still reined proudly and elegantly, a symbol of all the wizarding world stood for and all that had been lost so that it could be preserved. Even after all the time I'd been gone, the sight of the castle still had the same effect on me: a tightening in my chest and goose bumps forming on my arms.  
  
With a flick of my wand, the front gates opened and I passed the winged boars, glancing at them fondly, and began to make my way up the cobblestone path that would lead to the front doors. I tried to keep my head low as I walked, lest I be assaulted by memories, but I simply had to look.   
  
Every single spot held some meaning for me as I'd spent the most important years of my youth on the grounds and in the castle. It wasn't easy, walking that track, passing the spot where Harry had fended off hundreds of dementors to save himself and Sirius, and himself and me, depending on the view. Where Hagrid's hut had been before it was burnt to the ground during the final battle only moments after Hagrid himself died, there was now a memorial to all those brave warriors that lost their lives on that night.  
  
I neared the front doors, already feeling slightly overwhelmed and walked in, just as classes were changing. Students milled the halls, walking slowly to their next class as they laughed and joked with each other. A couple of years ago, the sight would have made me burst into tears, but after time to recover, it made me smile. That was what we had fought for after all, to ensure that the generations to come would be able to live carefree lives.  
  
Being an easily recognizable figure, one who hadn't really been seen in a long time, many of the children stopped, their eyes widening, their mouths opening. Funnily enough, I wasn't all that uncomfortable as they stared at me, whispering behind their hands to their friends. If they'd been adults, it would have really ticked me off, but as they were only young, it didn't bother me. I didn't know why, it just didn't.  
  
Removing my sunglasses, I ignored them and looked up and around the entrance hall, shaking my head in disbelief. Part of me felt as if things should be different, as if there should be scars on the castle walls to show what had happened here, but everything was just as it had been when I was a student.  
  
I was just about to continue further into the castle and make my way to the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom when a familiar face appeared above all the students. Remus Lupin was pushing his way towards me quickly, moving students out of his way. As he neared, he met my eyes and a wide grin split his face as he shouted, “Hermione!”  
  
Moving swiftly, he crossed to me and I was engulfed in a tight, bone crushing hug. He actually lifted me off my feet and swung me around and I was reluctant to let go when he put me back down and took a step back, leaving his hands on my arms and looking me over, as if making sure that at least on the outside, I was still me.  
  
Taking a moment to study him in return, I found tears in his eyes, barely at bay from falling and I wouldn't have been surprised if there were tears in mine. His hair was greyer now and the creases of his face were deeper than they had been the last time I had seen him. His scars had faded a bit and I couldn't find any new ones marring his face. He was wearing fine robes, so much different to those he had been in when he'd taught me, and his face was still holding a wide grin.  
  
He pulled me into another quick hug that ended just as quickly as it had started and shook his head as he looked at me and fired question after question, “Are you alright? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why didn't you come back?”  
  
“Settle, Remus. Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked, glancing around at the students who were still staring at the pair of us.  
  
Seeing that we weren't alone in the entrance hall, he nodded and without raising his voice, was able to command all the students back into movement, “Now everyone, I'm sure you all have classes to get to.” They all nodded and hurried off, probably already late. Turning back to me he said gently, “We'll go to my office for some tea.”  
  
With his hand on the small of my back, silent support that he more than likely sensed I needed being back in the castle, he led me towards his office, neither of us speaking. It was quite the trip down memory lane, even though I tried to keep them away all I could think of was Ron and Harry, laughing at something over there or talking about the latest Quidditch match here.   
  
When we finally reached the Defence classroom and made our way through it to Remus' office, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief and relax. I did love the castle, to this day it still feels like home, but being back there wasn't easy after all that had happened since my first year as a student. Sitting, I watched absently as Remus went about making two cups of tea, flicking his wand about, even remembering how I liked mine.  
  
He passed the cup over and sat down across from me, cradling his own and looking at me intently. To put off speaking, as I wasn't quite sure what to say, I took a sip of the tea and it calmed me even more. I couldn't keep quiet forever though; he was my friend and deserved an explanation, as well as needing to be told about Malfoy.  
  
As I was trying to think of what to say, Remus broke the silence with a soft question, “How are you?”  
  
I understood his concern. The most he'd gotten from me in letters was that I was alive and doing okay. Shrugging lightly, I met his eyes, “I'm fine, Remus. It hasn't been easy, but I'm handling things.”  
  
His eyes flicked over me quickly and then he looked at me with an intense gaze, all traces of the friendly grin from earlier gone. “You've lost weight,” he stated so sharply that my eyebrows rose.  
  
I looked down at myself. It wasn't something that I'd consciously noticed, but I knew he was right, even though I couldn't tell how he'd spotted that when I was wearing very moderate robes. I met his eyes again and told him, “It's not like I've been starving myself, Remus. It isn't even that much weight.”  
  
“Yes it is,” he countered and I could feel my ire rising, I was not here to talk about my weight at all. “You look like a shell of the person you once were, Hermione. Your face is drawn, you're a lot paler than you used to be and there are bags under your eyes.”  
  
Frustrated, I placed my tea on his desk beside me and stood, rounding my chair with a huff and walking over to the window. The grounds were beautiful this time of year, green, fresh and damp, and the smell of the outdoors even permeated into the occasionally stuffy castle.   
  
“I'm alive, Remus, isn't that enough for you?” I asked, but never gave him a chance to answer, shaking my head and saying, “I didn't come here to talk about that.”  
  
“I didn't think you did. I was surprised by your owl,” he admitted and I turned back to look at him. He was staring at the floor, his own cup of tea forgotten on the desk and his hands wringing together in a manner that told me he was anything but calm and was more than likely about to unleash a whole heap of bottled up emotions on me.   
  
I cringed, already expecting his shouting accusations, but he didn't yell, in fact his voice lowered until it was almost a whisper as he said, “I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Hermione.”  
  
With a deep breath, I turned and leaned my back against the window sill, my face softening as I looked at him. “I never meant to stay away so long, Remus, I just ... I don't know, I needed time ... I needed peace.”  
  
“That, I can understand, Hermione,” he raised his head and looked at me, the tears in his eyes making me feel worse about leaving than any angry words would have. “But ... you were missed.”  
  
I couldn't think of a reply. Of course, I'd missed the world I loved as well, and I'd missed Remus' calm company and quiet companionship even more, but the emotion in his voice, the pain and the longing, stopped any words that I may have been able to say in my throat. Tears welled up in my own eyes and I was forced to take a few more deep breaths.  
  
Fortunately, Remus spoke, moving away from the dangerous track a conversation like that could lead to. “So tell me, where have you been all this time?”  
  
“A small village, here in Scotland,” I answered quietly, blinking away the tears that had threatened to fall and calming myself further, before walking back over to my chair and picking up my tea again. After I took a long sip, I raised my eyes to see Remus staring at me in disbelief. “What?”  
  
“All these years ... you've been here? You haven't left Scotland and ... and yet ... you ...” He trailed off, shaking his head, obviously not knowing how to put what he wanted to say into words.  
  
He didn't need to though, I knew what he was thinking. Ever since I'd left I hadn't been that far away at all and I still hadn't made personal contact, I still hadn't told him where I was. “I’m sorry, Remus. It was difficult, being so close and not ...” With a sigh I gave up on my explanations and simply repeated, “I'm sorry.”  
  
Remus lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes for a moment before waving off my apology and then standing, to pace back and forwards across his small office as he spoke. “You haven't any need to apologize to me, Hermione, and I have no right to ask for it. You're your own person, you don't owe me anything.” He stalled my objections as I went to speak with a raised hand, “No ... you can do whatever you like.”  
  
“Still ... you're my friend, the only one I really have left, you've always been there for me. I should have ... I wasn't the only one mourning. I really am sorry, Remus,” I told him, my own voice sounding rather pathetic.  
  
His gaze was intense when I met it, but his tone was gentle, “No, you weren't the only one, but we all grieve in our own way, Hermione.” Pacing back to his seat, Remus seemed much more relaxed when he sat down, but his face was older than I could ever remember it seeing. “So tell me what made you finally come back? Are you planning on staying?”  
  
He deserved the truth, and I gave it to him, “No.” His crestfallen expression very nearly made me take the word back, but I held firm. “In fact, I guess you can say I'm here against my will. I didn't plan on returning any time soon actually, but something happened, or rather, someone happened.” The last part was more of a growl when I thought of the blonde Slytherin who was alone in my cottage right now and I was very glad that he could barely move.  
  
Remus raised an eyebrow and looked at me questioningly. “Someone?”  
  
“Yes, someone. I have ... a visitor. He showed up at my doorstep two nights ago, bleeding to death. I didn't know who else to come to,” I informed him.  
  
Leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, Remus inquired curiously, “Who?”  
  
Two words that were one name and managed to make a sneer grow on the face of even the kindest people I knew came from my lips, “Draco Malfoy.”  
  
Remus reeled back in shock, his eyes widening and his eyebrows shooting so high that they were almost lost in his hairline. “Draco Malfoy?” Shaking his head, he took a moment to let that little nugget of information sink in before looking at me sharply, “And you didn't know who else to go to? The Ministry, Hermione! He's a wanted criminal.”  
  
“I know that, Remus, but I'm asking you to keep this to yourself,” I said and there was a slight plead in my voice.  
  
“Why? Why would you want to protect him, of all people?” Remus asked and just as I was about to say that my reasons were my own, he finished with, “I won't promise to stay quiet until I understand, until you give me something solid to hold onto, because for the life of me, I simply cannot understand.”  
  
There was a minute of silence as I put off the inevitable task of telling Remus everything, but then, with another very deep breath, I informed him, “I owe him my life, twice over, in fact.”  
  
Staring at me intently again, Remus mumbled, “I should check you for the Imperius curse,” and began to draw his wand.  
  
I held up my hands and attempted to placate him. “It's me, okay, Remus? I'm not under any curse, or spell, or potion, but what I'm saying is the truth.”   
  
Backing up my words, I went on to tell him everything. I told him of what I witnessed the night of the final battle and then what Draco had gone through just to keep my location a secret from his father.  
  
After listening intently, Remus rested his chin on his fist and thought for a few minutes. When his eyes came back to me he inquired, “You questioned him under veritaserum?” I simply nodded and watched as he rose again and walked to the spot where I had been previously standing by the window. Another couple of minutes went by as he stared out over the grounds, his mind working over everything I'd told him and then he turned to me and asked, “Well, what do you want to do with him?”  
  
Shrugging, I responded, “I don't know, that's why I'm here. What do you think I should do?”  
  
“If you don't want him in your home then ... what about the Potter estates? Surely there's a house or something amongst them that would hold him,” Remus suggested.  
  
I sighed, “I don't own them anymore. I sold them, all except Godric's ... I simply couldn't ... and Grimmauld, just in case it was ever needed again. I auctioned the rest off and split all the profits between the Harry Potter Post-War Foundation and the St. Mungo's children's ward.”  
  
Remus' eyebrows rose again, “That was you? You were the anonymous person who donated the funds to have that ward built?” I just shrugged so he continued, “Back on topic. Well, Godric's is certainly in no condition to hold a person, and Grimmauld is out of the question due to the fact that no matter what he says or does, he's still a ... former Death Eater and it’s still our Headquarters. There are the dungeons here at Hogwarts, but there's too high of a chance he will be seen by someone and we can't have that.” He met my eyes and frowned, “I know you don't want him staying with you, Hermione, but it seems like the only option if you won't hand him over. And it might be for the best since you'd be there to keep an eye on him.”  
  
Nodding, I grumbled, “That was the only conclusion I was able to reach as well, but I just thought that maybe you knew of somewhere.”  
  
“Anyway,” Remus went on, focusing on something else that had been brought up when I was explaining my reasons for harbouring a wanted Death Eater, “Tell me everything he told you about Lucius.”  
  
So I did and noticed that Remus seemed to get paler and paler as I went on. When I finished, I sat in silence, waiting for him to say something. It was a long time before he spoke again; instead he turned back around and went on looking out the window, but from my position I was still able to see his eyes and the cogs were practically reflecting in them, turning at full speed.  
  
Moving much more like his age permitted, Remus walked back and collapsed into his seat. I was about to remind him of my presence in the room when he did speak, “Lucius is no idiot ... he would have learned from Voldemort's mistakes, he could be very dangerous if we ever allowed it to progress that far.”  
  
“Then we stop it now,” I said, rather forcefully, completely forgetting that I didn't live in this world anymore, that I didn't need to fight anymore. “We cut off the snakes head before it can strike.”  
  
Our eyes met and we both nodded, then Remus frowned once more. “You know we can't go to the Ministry, they'd ask too many questions about where the information came from. You know what we have to do.”  
  
“I do, but are you willing?” I inquired, my heart rate increasing slightly.  
  
“Yes, but I should be asking you that question. They'll want answers, Hermione, answers that only you can give them if we're really going to do this. And if we're to take down Lucius before he gains any power then we're going to need your help. You can't be invisible any longer.”  
  
It was my turn to drift into thought. Was I ready for this? It had taken me an entire day to prepare myself before seeing Remus and Hogwarts again, was I ready to stand in front of all those people who had once, and if I was honest, always would mean so much to me? Was I fully prepared to see those that were my champions, those who had fought beside me and guarded my back?  
  
And as simple as that, I knew the answer. I'd always been ready. I hadn't been hiding from the people I knew, I'd been hiding from myself. I could practically see Ron and Harry rolling their eyes at how long it had taken me to grasp that, how daft I could occasionally be. I met Remus' eyes and knew exactly why he smiled when he looked at my face, for I could feel it. The fire was back in my eyes.  
  
“I'm ready, Remus, and more than willing.”  
  
His smile grew and, just as he'd seen the life re-enter me, I witnessed the return of the accepted wolf as it stalked back into his gaze. “I'll talk to Minerva.”  
  
And as simple as that, we were about to reform the Order of the Phoenix.

  



	6. Stew

It had been two days since I'd spoken to Remus and I was patiently awaiting Hedwig to return with a letter saying that the meeting had been set up and providing me with information on where and when. Remus had been hesitant to send that kind of knowledge with an owl, but I had managed to assure him that, after what Malfoy had told me, Hedwig was now the safest animal in all of Britain.   
  
Due to his injuries, I'd barely had to put up with Malfoy. It was a struggle for him to even move and therefore I didn't have to see him if I didn't want to. I'd take his meals to the spare room three times a day and then leave, barely a word being passed between the two of us, and once a day I'd take him out the back so he could have the one cigarette I allowed him. It seemed we were both content to very nearly ignore each other, as it was a right sight better than open hostility.   
  
In fact, the only time barbs had been traded between us was that first embarrassing and traumatizing time that I'd had to help him stand up while he urinated. We'd snapped and swore at each other throughout the entire experience and I very nearly ended up just letting him drop to the ground. After that I was prepared and with a few simple spells, I could leave the room while he was in there.  
  
Standing at the stove, stirring a pot of stew, I absently gazed out the window, looking off into the distance uselessly for any sign of Hedwig. Waiting always made me antsy, and especially so since I had nothing to do but think of the upcoming meeting.   
  
It certainly wasn't going to be easy facing all of them again, let alone trying to explain that, no, I would not be letting Draco Malfoy be given the dementors kiss and then seeing their faces when they were told that there may be another Dark Lord on the rise.  
  
I shook myself out of the thoughts and focused on the night's meal I was currently preparing. It was almost ready, so I turned down the heat to let it simmer for a while before walking into the depths of the cottage, down the hall and into the spare room.   
  
Opening the door I was shocked to see that Malfoy wasn't in the bed and even drew my wand, but put it back into my pocket with a long-suffering sigh when I looked about the room to see him on the floor beside my desk, with my book on his lap, white pages that he'd already read by his side.   
  
He hadn't even looked up at my entry, so I knew that what I had written had him at least interested enough to become absorbed. An odd surge of pride ran through me at that thought.  
  
I tamped down on the positive feelings, as it was very unusual to have them when I was around Draco, and growled a few words to get his attention, “Do you have a death wish, Draco Malfoy?”  
  
His head snapped up and he looked at me, no discernible emotion on his face, then he held up the page he was reading and asked, “Did you write this?”  
  
“Yes,” I answered shortly, glaring at him. “What the hell are you doing out of bed? Someone in your condition shouldn't be moving, especially unassisted. You're going to rip your wound open again and this time, I may not bother to patch it up.”  
  
Walking over to him, I withdrew my wand again and began flicking it and muttering under my breath, checking to see that he hadn't caused himself any further damage. I did notice that he had his hand on his stomach, over where the worst of his gash was, so I knew that even though he hadn't reopened it, he was in pain.  
  
“I didn't know that the Dark Lord did that,” he was saying quietly, continuing to read, while I checked him. “Split his soul ...” He lifted his head and caught my eyes. “How does a person even do that?”  
  
He looked so innocently bewildered when he asked, that I couldn't stop my voice from softening when I told him, “No one alive is really sure of the complete method, though it does involve murdering a person first ... to be honest, I'm glad that there's no one on earth who can answer that question now that Voldemort's dead.”  
  
Nodding, Draco's eyes returned to the paper he was holding, and after a few seconds he added it to the face-down stack that was beside him. He didn't pick up another, choosing instead to look at me as I was crouched beside him and admit, “I didn't know all that either ...” he said, waving his hand over the stack of fifty or so white sheets of A4 paper. “About Potter, the muggles he lived with ...” He trailed off and shrugged, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of anything he had read. Then he seemed to shake himself out of the mood and he frowned at me, “What are you doing in here, anyway?”  
  
“Well, excuse me, Malfoy, but as I recall, it's my house and I can be wherever the hell I want,” I snapped back defensively and then just told him anyway, “I came to tell you that tea is almost ready.” I stood back up, “I'll bring it into you shortly.”  
  
“No,” he stated as I went to leave the room, causing me to turn back to him and furrow my brow. “I'm sick of this room, I want to eat at a bloody table like a civilized human being.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “You are such the petulant child when you choose to be,” I muttered and then levitated him, only absently noting that he still had the remainder of what I'd written of my book clutched in his hands.   
  
The gash from his collar bone to his hip was taking a bit longer than I initially thought to heal, more than likely due to whatever curse had struck him and the lingering residual magic infused. His broken leg was healing very nicely and would probably only have to be frozen in place for another day or so.   
  
His knee, however ... after a few days of observation, I was now certain it would never heal properly. It would be a while at least until he could walk and he'd struggle with that for the rest of his life, having a limp at the very least.  
  
In the kitchen, I sat him at the small square dining table and then went about dishing up two plates of stew, while watching him continue to read out of the corner of my eye. I brought the plates over and set one in front of him, while taking a seat directly across from him. He laid the book close to his left so that he could still lean over and read it as he ate and I simply sat there, enjoying my own meal while watching him curiously.  
  
It was so bizarre, having him here, living under my roof, in my home, sitting at my dining table and eating the food I cooked while he read the book that I was working on. Him, Draco Malfoy, whom had tormented me cruelly and without pause during my school days, who had been in the enemy category of people I knew for so long, doing all of these things, just across from me, neither of us throwing insults and actually acting civilized.   
  
If anyone had told that thirteen year old girl who had been so upset the first time he'd called her by such a derogatory word that she'd now be in this position with him, she very well may have hexed them. But there I was, studying him rather intently over my stew as his brow furrowed and he occasionally snorted, or shook his head, while he read.   
  
I was suddenly amazed at how complex he had turned out to be. Before, he had just been Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret, a cruel, prejudiced, pure-blooded Death Eater. Now though, well, I didn't quite know what, or even who he was anymore.  
  
I dropped my eyes to my stew, mulling over everything that had happened in the past few days, hesitantly allowing my thoughts to drift over things I had been trying to avoid, like the upcoming Order meeting, and just what I was going to do with Draco.   
  
My head rose again when he started laughing out loud. It was unusual to see him laugh in that way. Normally, his laughter was cold and mean, a sign of impending torment, but Merlin help me, Draco Malfoy was chuckling heartily.   
  
His laughter was so hard that he had to grab his side in pain, wincing slightly even though the mirth stayed in his eyes. He looked up at me and I was so shocked by the relaxed, happy face that he was wearing that I almost missed his words.   
  
“That is such a Weasley thing to do,” he told me, shaking his head.  
  
When I furrowed my brow, not quite sure what part he was up to, or what thing Ron had done to amuse him so much, he explained in further detail, laughter still in his voice and eyes as he spoke, “Here you three are, on a dangerous as hell mission, in the middle of an unknown forest crawling with Death Eaters and that git walks straight into a bloody tree!”  
  
Coming from Malfoy, one would expect it to be him laughing at Ron's misfortune, but to be honest, I couldn't hold it against him. I remembered that night, and as I recalled, both Harry and I had cracked up laughing at Ron as well, even as we knew that that action could very well lead those who wanted us all dead to our location; at the time, we didn't care. A laugh had been exactly what we'd needed after so long without anything to smile about.  
  
I started laughing myself as I remembered it, laughing at how Ron had been the one to always make Harry and I smile when we needed it the most, how even by accident, he could lighten the darkest of moods. Ron was neither the brains nor the brawn in the trio, but to be honest, he had been the one that had gotten us through the worst of days, with nothing more than a crooked grin and a bad joke.  
  
Malfoy's voice startled me and when I looked up at him I saw that he was watching me intently and the smile was gone from his face, his features now curious. “There's sadness in your eyes, but that's the first real smile I've seen on your face since I got here.” He paused for a moment, then went on, his tone turning contemplative, “You used to smile a lot at Hogwarts.”  
  
Too stunned to say anything, I simply stared at him for a long time. After a minute or so he focused once more on the paper he was reading and the remainder of his meal.   
  
I was shaken from my shock by the kitchen window swinging open and Hedwig swooping in to land beside me on the table. She held out her leg and with slightly shaking hands I untied the parchment from her leg, noticing absently that Malfoy was now looking in my direction again.  
  
Suddenly not hungry, I pushed the bowl of stew towards the owl that seemed to give me an, 'Are you kidding? Stew?' look before shrugging in the way only owls can and bending her head to give my food a try. I unrolled the parchment to find Remus' tidy scrawl and frowned.   
  
Without even reading it, I knew what the letter meant: The Order was going to meet for the first time since the fall of Voldemort and I was going to have to return, at least partially, to the world I had long ago abandoned.  
  
Quickly, I read over the short message.  
  
 _'Hermione, the members have been alerted, the meeting is to be held the night after next, 8p.m. I'm sure you remember how to get to Headquarters. Remus.'_  
  
Blowing out the breath of air that I didn't know I'd been holding, I rolled the parchment back up and sat it beside me, looking up at Malfoy. When I didn't say anything for a full minute, he prodded, “Well?”  
  
“The meeting is set up, not tomorrow night, but the night after that. They're all going to know then, Malfoy,” I informed him.  
  
He scowled, but it was more at the situation than at me. “They're going to want to tear me apart, Granger. I know that most of them still blame me for what happened to Dumbledore.”  
  
“Yes, they do and they are, but I told you that I wouldn't give you up to the Ministry if you kept your slate clean from here on out, and I'm willing to make that same agreement regarding the Order. They don't demand your head on a pike, or I don't help them.” It had been while I was speaking the words, that I reached that decision.  
  
The look he gave me was measuring and his voice was softer than I can ever recall it being when he spoke, “Why are you doing this for me, Granger?”  
  
“Why'd you risk your life for me? Why'd you save me from Dolohov's curse?” I shrugged, “It goes both ways, Malfoy. And the Order may be the side of light, but they've seen a lot and they're scared that they'll see it again, or worse, their children will. When they're in that kind of state of mind, they tend to forget the things that are supposed to make us the good guys. If I let them hurt you, which each and every one of them, and myself as well if I be honest, has some desire to do, then that'll just put us on the same level as those we fight against.”  
  
He looked at me for a long moment before nodding. With nothing else to be said, and it looking as if neither of us were going to finish our stew, I stood and took the plates to the sink, which I filled with hot water and dish-washing liquid and began scrubbing away.  
  
I expected a comment about doing things the muggle way, some sneered insult, but it never came. I glanced back at him to find him once more absorbed in my book and decided not to say anything to interrupt him, instead focusing on the task at hand.   
  
Once I'd finished, I dried my hands and turned back to him, asking as pleasantly as I could, “Would you like a cup of tea?”  
  
I'd broken him from a moment of deep thought, I noticed, and he looked at me and shook his head, “Actually, I think I'd like to go back to my room now.”  
  
That drew me up short, but I covered it quickly and kept my thoughts to myself as I levitated him through the hallway. He'd called my spare bedroom  _his_  room and hadn't demanded that I take him back there, being relatively polite instead.   
  
The way he had referred to the room made me wonder how long he thought he'd be staying with me, and I startled myself when I realized that I'd never thought of that.  
  
How long was he going to be staying with me? He had nowhere else to go; he was wanted by both the Ministry and those we fought against. Even after all of the stuff with Lucius was over, one way or another, he would still have nowhere to go, he'd still be a wanted criminal.   
  
I decided, as I, as gently as possible, lowered him onto the bed, that I wouldn't dwell on that, if only because it made me slightly ill. I'd take things one day at a time and see where that led.  
  
“Do you want the light left on?” I asked him as I reached the door. He raised his head and shook it, before placing my book on the bedside table and painfully burrowing himself further into the bed. “You've changed, Draco Malfoy,” I said quietly before I even knew I was speaking and then flicked off the light and left.

  



	7. Meeting

The wards around Grimmauld Place had been re-established only weeks after Headmaster Dumbledore's death, once the Order had gotten itself sorted out once more. McGonagall had been made its new secret keeper, as she, along with Mad-Eye, had become the closest thing the secret group had to leaders after its founder had died.   
  
It was not long after that that I, along with Harry, Ron and a number of others had been inducted. We were the new blood of the Order, and as Remus had argued to Molly Weasley at the time, we would be the ones to end the war once and for all.  
  
I don't know how long I stood there staring at the front door, biting my lip. The last time I'd been in the house, I'd been preparing to leave, despite the pleas of those around me to stay so that we could all heal together as the family we had become. I had ignored them, feeling a pressure in my chest so tight that I thought my heart would be crushed. I had needed to get away from the world that I loved so much, yet had caused me so much pain.  
  
Finally, steeling myself against whatever was to come, I took a deep breath and walked to the door, not bothering to knock, instead just walking straight in. I did own the house, thus knocking seemed unnecessary.  
  
My heart rate rose, though I'm not entirely sure why, and I was relieved when Mrs Black didn't start screaming until I remembered that it had taken Dobby an entire ten seconds to remove the horrible portrait, eight of which were spent rubbing his tiny hands together in glee.  
  
Walking in, I couldn't help the tears that came to my eyes. It was just like being back at Hogwarts, with memories of those I loved and lost swarming all throughout the place. It had changed a lot since I had first been introduced to the house of Sirius' family, mostly in thanks to the small elf that had been able to remove Mrs Black's painting. Dobby had fixed the place up nicely for Harry when he came into ownership. Though Harry hadn't found out about that until we had left to find the horcruxes, and had started using the place as a base.  
  
There was a new layer of dust over everything, from years of disuse and that hit me rather hard. This had been Harry's house; if he had lived he could have still been here. I imagine that now it was cleaned up and habitable, it wouldn't have been a bad place to raise a family. Harry had always wanted a family and he would have been an amazing father, I know.   
  
He was gone though, and I was standing in the place where I had spent so much time with him, and Ron. In a way, this had been where the war was won, where we had strategized and searched for the horcruxes. So many memories, of both good times and bad.  
  
As much as I didn't want to be back at Headquarters, it was a relief to be away from Malfoy. Ever since I'd made that comment at the door about him being different now, he'd been looking at me oddly, as if he were a geologist and I a particularly fascinating rock. This was especially annoying since he'd been spending more and more time out of the spare room.  
  
So lost was I in my musings that I didn't notice the appearance of someone else into the Entrance Hall. I only snapped back to attention when I heard my name, strangled in a wailing cry. Molly Weasley rushed towards me, already bawling and before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was swept into one of her infamous hugs.  
  
Seeing Molly again made me feel even worse about leaving, it made me feel like a complete failure. That I had given up and ran, when she had not. Here was a woman who had lost her husband and most of her children, and still she had stayed and faced what was to come head on.  
  
The tears in my eyes actually fell, for the first time in a long time, and to my own surprise I felt comforting warmth in Molly's hug, something else I had not experienced in a very long time, since the last time I had seen my own mother alive, in fact.   
  
I hugged her back with equal strength, crying onto her shoulder as she did on mine. When we finally parted, I took to wiping the tears from my face, while Molly kept a firm grip on my shoulders and looked me up and down, as if examining me for injuries.  
  
When seemingly satisfied, she pulled me into another quick hug and wailed, “Oh, Hermione, dear, I've missed you so much! I've been so worried, you out there all on your own after everything that happened!”  
  
“I'm okay, Molly,” I whispered and she pulled back again, so that my eyes met her disbelieving gaze. With a small shrug and a sigh, I told her, “Well, no, I'm not one hundred percent, I'm still healing, but ...” I trailed off, as standing there, with this women who, if things had turned out differently, could have possibly ended up being my mother-in-law, I was no longer quite sure exactly how I was.  
  
Molly sighed to herself and then gave a small smile, patting the side of my face in that maternal way. “Yes, I know. Believe me, I know. Oh, but it's so good to see you again, Hermione.”  
  
“You too, Molly,” I told her, wiping away another tear and matching her smile.   
  
When she finally released me, I had to take another few deep breaths to regain control before following her towards the drawing room of the house as she said, “Everyone is already here, I was just in the kitchen making a few plates of snacks and that, I'm sure they're all excited to be seeing you again.”  
  
As we reached the door to the drawing room, all the preparing I had done to make myself ready for this flew away from me and my heart started beating even faster. For a moment, I panicked ... I wasn't ready for this, even though I'd told Remus I was. I couldn't face them, or the memories. I couldn't face what would have to happen with this knowledge of Lucius' plans, nor the guilt I was already being overwhelmed by.  
  
Molly seemed to sense my anxiety, for she took her hand off the door handle and placed it on my arm. “Everything is going be fine, dear,” she said softly.  
  
I met her eyes, nodded sharply, and summoned every ounce of Gryffindor I had in me. Seeing my resolve, Molly turned back to the door, opened it and a cacophony of voices hit my ears, voices I knew from what seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Walking in behind Molly, I kept my head low but couldn't help feeling a touch self-conscious when all the talk hushed.  
  
Before I even had the chance to look up, I was enveloped in a hug more crushing than the one Molly had just given me and a very familiar voice was murmuring into my hair, “Hermione! Hermione, I've missed you so much!”  
  
“Nev -- Neville, I can't breathe,” I managed to rasp out and the tight hold on me loosened, so much so that I could look at his face.  
  
Neville Longbottom, the young man who could have been the chosen one, was no longer the pudgy faced little boy that I could remember from my first year at Hogwarts. He'd grown into quite a man, losing all his baby fat and filling out. His hair was longer than it had been the last time I'd seen him, and there was a scar, one from that fateful last battle against Voldemort, running down his cheek.   
  
He still hadn't let me go and was now planting kisses on my cheek and making those godforsaken tears return to my eyes. A watery smile came across my face when he did pull away and I said quietly, “It's good to see you again, Nev.”  
  
Neville was about to respond when a taller form pushed him aside, saying loudly with a laugh, “Give the rest of us a chance to make sure she's real, Neville,” and then I was hugged tightly again, this time by Fred Weasley.  
  
His hug wasn't as energetic, nor as tight, as Neville's had been and it ended much sooner. When he pulled back, I could see that even though he was grinning broadly, the shadow in his eyes that had been there since the death of George in an attack on Diagon Alley, still plagued him.   
  
I said hello's to so many familiar faces: Bill Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Luna Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Susan Bones, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson.   
  
Recruitment had stepped up a notch when Mad-Eye and McGonagall had taken over, and now the majority of the Order still alive were people from my generation.   
  
There were so many individuals in the room that I had tried to forget, and so many weren't present that I would never be able to forget. The names of those who had fought against the darkness and died would forever be burned into my mind, people such as Arthur, George, Charlie, Ginny and even Percy Weasley, along with Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, my classmate Dean Thomas, Hagrid, Tonks, and Mad-Eye.  
  
When I made my way through the group until I was close to the front, I found myself in front of Minerva McGonagall. The Headmistress of Hogwarts stood beside the desk, one trembling hand resting on it for support, looking at me with disbelief written all over her face. Unconsciously, my back straightened as I stood before my mentor.  
  
She released a small, “Oh my,” before crossing the distance between us and wrapping me up in her arms. The action shocked me, even though I'd seen the softer side of Gryffindor's former Head of House numerous times after Albus Dumbledore died and I hesitated but a moment before raising my own arms and returning the gesture, struggling to hold back the tears once more.  
  
When we released each other, she lifted a still shaking hand to my shoulder, as if, even after the hug, she had to make sure I was solid and really present. I bit my lip and one stray tear slid down my cheek as I searched for the words to make her understand why I had left, to apologize if I had let her down in any way.  
  
I didn't need them though, apparently she knew exactly what I wanted to say for she squeezed my shoulder and nodded, her eyes gently communicating that no apology or explanation was necessary, she understood.  
  
With that silent talk between us over, we faced the rest of the Order, who had been kind enough to keep silent during the exchange. They were all looking at me expectantly, but I had no intention of telling them where I'd been the past three years, so I settled for, “Well ... as I stood in front of the door outside of this house just before, I wasn't too sure, but after seeing you all again I now know ... it's good to be home.”  
  
Smiles were given in response, no one questioning further as I'd seemed to make it obvious that I didn't want to talk about it and I made my way over and took a seat next to Remus, with Luna, whom after all we'd been through together I now counted as a good friend, on my other side. Remus reached over and patted my hand softly, a small show of support and appreciation of what I'd just said.  
  
Everyone else began making themselves comfortable around the room and I took a moment to observe them. I knew I wasn't the only one who had been damaged by the war emotionally, but seeing their faces now, I also knew I wasn't the only one who hadn't fully healed. In fact, it seemed none of us had.  
  
Both Molly and McGonagall were candles to the bonfires they had once been, and Fred was just a shell of his former self. Bill Weasley had heavy, black bags under his eyes and was pale and drawn. I couldn't blame him. Fleur had made it through the war with barely a scratch on her, but had died just a year later while giving birth to their first born, as Remus had told me in a letter, and now Bill was taking care of their little girl all by himself.  
  
It was painful to see Luna looking alert and I missed the days when her eyes had been dreamy and she could find humour in the most unusual of things. Seamus wasn't sitting with a ready, lopsided grin and a bad joke, making me yearn for the days when he was a larrikin above all else.   
  
Neville, who was beside him, had a constant reminder of what he had been through on his face and Susan, who was holding his hand tightly, had terribly haunted eyes.  
  
Oliver and Lee had both lost their easy going natures, as I could tell from the way they were holding themselves, as if prepared for the person next to them to attack, and Angelina still moved holding her arm, which had been shattered during that last battle, in an odd manner.   
  
Kingsley was jumpy and looked almost as paranoid as Mad-Eye had once been. Remus, even though he'd always looked drawn and tired, bearing many scars, seemed much older than he really was, and I ... well, I was barely a shadow of the person I remember being.  
  
We were all still hurting, we were all still suffering from nightmares that reminded us each and every day that we had seen and done things we wouldn't wish on even those we were sworn to fight against. We were all damaged product, trying to get on with our lives after suffering through the worst experience a human can possibly comprehend. We all bore scars, both physical and emotional, that would never fade away, that would never fully heal.   
  
Walking wounded, indeed.  
  
Once everyone else was seated, or comfortable, McGonagall stood in front of the desk in the room and addressed us. “The last time this Order was together, it was to share our relief at the downfall of the wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort, and to grieve with each other for all those that we loved who were taken by his darkness and those who followed him. We have not all been together,” here she pointedly looked at me, “in three years. And in that time we have tried to heal ourselves and to keep moving forward. Tonight, we are once more gathered, not to stop a Dark Lord, but to bar one from rising.”  
  
A few gasps echoed around the room, and the posture of some people straightened as they became even more alert than our lives had taught us to be. I knew where she was leading so I took a moment to reflect on how she looked, standing up there in front of everyone, leading the greatest secret defence organization that our world had.   
  
The war had taught us all that Minerva McGonagall was much more like Dumbledore than she had led on, and that she was a formidable leader in her own right. It was odd, however, after so many of these meetings in the past, to see her giving us information without Mad-Eye clunking and grumbling beside her.   
  
McGonagall continued while I thought over that, “A few days ago, Remus Lupin came to me and informed me that he wanted to reform the Order of the Phoenix. To say I was shocked would be an understatement, as I'm sure you all were when my patronus made its rounds, and just like everyone else in this room, I am worried. We have received information from an ... interesting source that made this necessary, however. Hermione, perhaps you would like to fill us in?”   
  
I nodded, but before I could speak, she went on, “I ask that everyone keep their comments and questions to themselves while she speaks, even though I'm sure you'll all want to say something as the information is told.”  
  
She nodded at me, so I looked around the room warily before stating, “Almost a week ago now, Draco Malfoy arrived on my doorstep.”  
  
There were gasps and cries of disbelief all around the room and I turned my head when Kingsley stood quickly, his hand going for his wand, and announced, “He's a wanted criminal by the Ministry of Magic!”  
  
Before he could say anything else, Remus interrupted him sharply, “Honour the Headmistress' request and let her finish, Shacklebolt!”  
  
Kingsley was fuming, his wand still gripped tightly in his hand, but nodded to me, and I absently noted that he wasn't about to return to his seat anytime soon before I went on, “Yes, Kingsley, I'm well aware of that.”   
  
Everyone was staring at me, absorbing my words, a few of them with anger for Malfoy written all over their faces. “He was dying, suffering major injuries from an attack and had lost an awful lot of blood. I took him in and I healed him the best I could.”  
  
“You should have let the scum bleed to death!” Fred roared.  
  
His mother promptly shut him up, so that I could continue, with a firm, “Fred Weasley! Be quiet!” Then she smiled at me pleasantly, even though worry was all over her face, and motioned that I go on.  
  
“The next morning I questioned him under veritaserum and what I learned was ... disturbing.” I stood unconsciously as I took on what Harry and Ron used to call my 'lecturing mode'. “As it turns out, Lucius Malfoy has been attempting to rise to some sort of Dark Lord status since Voldemort died, more than likely to finish what his master started, with the added bonus of him getting power. He's managed to gather support, mostly from Riddle's old followers, the one's that are still at large, or we never found out about, and he's got quite a bit of financial backing, where from I don't know. So far, however, he's still in the planning stages.”  
  
There was silence in the room; it was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop until Remus spoke up, after about a minute or so. “That's why we're here, to see if we can manage to, as Hermione aptly put it to me the other day, cut off the snakes head before it can strike.”  
  
“Right,” McGonagall took up, as was her place as our leader, “We all know what is going on now, so I need to know that everyone is willing to take up the mantle once more. If anyone wants out, now is the time to leave and I assure you that it will not be held against you. We have all seen and done enough to last us a lifetime ... I certainly would not blame anyone if they wanted to ignore this. Those who wish to leave, I ask you to do so now.”  
  
No one moved, but still the Headmistress gave them a full three minutes to make up their minds. When the time was up and everyone was still in the room she nodded and was about to speak again when Kingsley once more spoke up, “How can this information even be trusted? It's coming from a Death Eater!”  
  
Remus stood and moved a step closer to the dark man, “No, it's coming from Hermione and that's how we know it can be trusted.” His voice had an edge to it that I hadn't heard in a long time.  
  
Kingsley scoffed, “How do we know it's even her? Hermione Granger hasn't been seen in three years, we don't even know if she's alive! This could all be a load of bullocks! Even a trap!”  
  
As Remus had just done, Neville also stood and moved, not closer to Kingsley, but to me where I stood near McGonagall and slightly behind Remus. “I know Hermione Granger, Kingsley, and this is her,” he said, his voice firm and his face stone.  
  
“As do I. And please, Kingsley, tell us,” Fred spoke up from his seat next to his mother, “if this were some sort of trap, why would this information be offered up? Wouldn't they be better off if we didn't know? Don't be so paranoid, you great git, you're getting more and more like Mad-Eye every day!”  
  
“Oh, and I suppose you and Longbottom are --” Kingsley began.  
  
But before he could go off on a full tangent, McGonagall stopped the argument. “Enough!” she commanded and every eye turned to her. She was glaring around the room, the same glare that had struck fear into hundreds of Hogwarts students for years.   
  
Her voice was tight and full of rage as she went on, “We are brothers upon bloodshed, we do not fight amongst ourselves, save it for the enemy. Kingsley, I gave you the chance to leave and right now I'll offer that again.”  
  
Shacklebolt seemed taken aback and his angry expression faded as his entire face dropped. His eyes moved to the floor and he took a number of deep breaths before answering, “No, Minerva, I'll stay. I just ... I wanted ... if this is true, then we can't take any risks.”  
  
“No,” McGonagall agreed, “we can't. But let's take this one step at a time. If Lucius is still making his devious little plans, then we've still got time. First, Hermione, when you go home you need to ask young Mr Malfoy for a list of names, those who are following his father, force it out of him in any possible way if necessary.”  
  
I nodded and returned to my seat to listen as she continued, reminding me more and more of the thoughtful leader Dumbledore had been with every word. “Kingsley, you'll need to sniff out the Ministry. No doubt he'll want contacts there, find out if anyone has been compromised and see if you can make a list of those Lucius may wish to gather support amongst. If he hasn't already got to them, try and get to them first ... a spy inside his ranks would be helpful.  
  
“Everyone else, begin brain storming amongst yourselves,” McGonagall instructed. “Possible targets and strategies, things like that, you all know what to do.”  
  
“It might be helpful,” I spoke up, “to go over the records from Voldemort's first rise to power. All in all, that would have been successful if not for ... Harry. Lucius learned a lot from Tom Riddle, he may follow some of his steps.”  
  
McGonagall agreed, nodding at everyone else to show that they should follow my advice. “Very well ...” She trailed off, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes for a moment before beginning to clean the square frames on her robes before she spoke, rather quietly, “This will more than likely be difficult, and we may suffer for it, but this is what we do.”   
  
She replaced the glasses and looked at each and every face in the room in turn before going on, “We are the Order of the Phoenix. We stood together on a field of honour and fought against the darkness. We lost friends, lovers, children, brothers, sisters ... but we won the war.   
  
”Whether or not this situation reaches that point, we will never give up ... we will take down Lucius Malfoy just as we took down Tom Riddle ... we will be there to take down the next one and the next ... as long as we are needed. And we will never give up; we will never rest, not while there is breath left in our bodies ... not until we can be certain that those who come after us can live a life of peace.”  
  
Her words were so profound that no one dare speak, and I myself didn't even want to breathe, lest I break the remarkable effect she had just had upon every soul in the room. Again, she met each and every pair of eyes that were looking at her before nodding, more to herself than to any of us, and saying, “Very well, you know your jobs. Like I said before, we take this one step at a time. Now, get to it.”  
  
Just as everyone else was beginning to move, the serene voice of Luna brought the pack to a halt, “What of Draco?”  
  
All eyes turned once more back to me, but I wasn't the one who answered, McGonagall did, “If Hermione doesn't mind, I think it best that he stay under her guard.” Nodding, I briefly wondered whether or not I was guarding the world from Malfoy, or rather Malfoy from the world.   
  
McGonagall went on to dismiss the congregation, “Good, now that that is taken care of, I ask all of you to please give anything you come up with either to myself or Remus.”  
  
I allowed myself to move, as did everyone else, and I watched them all walk from the room, only myself, Remus and McGonagall remaining. Everyone moved determinedly, and it hit me, as I'm sure it did everyone else, that we had a purpose once more.   
  
A part of us that had been missing since the end of the war came back and settled upon our shoulders. As much as we didn't want it, it filled a void that had been gone for three years. Like McGonagall had said, we were brothers upon bloodshed and we once more had a reason to be the lions that prowled in our chests, simply because we were again facing a snake that needed dealing with.  
  
Remus' hand on my arm brought me from my musings and when I met his gentle eyes he smiled, “Go on, Hermione, go home. You have something to do and I daresay some rest would do you good.”  
  
I nodded and began walking from the room when McGonagall's Scottish burr pulled me up short, “Do keep a close eye on young Mr Malfoy, Hermione.”  
  
“Of course,” I answered and then walked out. It had been a long night already, I wanted to get home so that I could let my emotionally exhausted mind relax. I still had a bottle of wine that needed drinking, after all.


	8. Choices

The argument to get the names out of Draco had been so easy that it was more like a discussion. He had been very hesitant at first, snapping and grumbling the entire time, especially when I threatened to stun him and pour an entire vial of veritaserum down his throat. That would kill him, of course, but I'd have a few minutes to get the names out of him before he died. I wasn't exactly prepared to go that far however, simply because in the end I knew he would relent.  
  
And he did, with my near-plea of, “Why not just give us the information we ask for, Malfoy? It's not like you've got anything to lose, you're already just above me on your father’s to-kill list.”  
  
So he dictated a list of names, those that he knew of, to me as I wrote them down and in the end, it was terrifyingly impressive. Lucius had more than 'just a bit' of support. All of the remaining Death Eaters that were alive and hadn't been captured, including the likes of Alecto Carrow, the senior Crabbe and the junior Goyle, Blaise Zabini, Rabastan Lestrange, Walden McNair and a host of other names I recognized, but had never faced personally.   
  
Along with that there was also a whole new group of people, ones that had not initially been a Death Eater, during the time of Voldemort, but were now supporting the cause, a few of their names I could remember from being younger Slytherin's while Draco and I been at school.   
  
Malfoy couldn't tell me who his father's spies in the Ministry were, as he hadn't been given that information. All he knew was that there were a number of them, and a few of them were rather high ranking.  
  
My hands slightly shaking, worried about how many we were up against, I sent the list of names off to Remus and McGonagall, under a number of charms to protect its contents that I had recalled from the time of war. That done, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had done what had been asked of me for the moment, now all I had to do was keep an eye on Draco.  
  
I watched Hedwig fly off into the distance, getting smaller and smaller until she was a tiny pin-prick in the sky and then unable to see at all before turning from the kitchen and walking into the living room, where Malfoy was resting on the couch.   
  
I went straight to him, my wand drawn, and did a number of spells above his leg. It was ready to be removed from the charm that immobilized it, but he would still have to be careful with it for a while.  
  
As I went about checking his knee and cut, I told him quietly, “You need to choose a side, Malfoy.”  
  
“I don't want to be on any side,” he responded. “I just want to stay alive.”  
  
“Yes, well, you should know that when you are in a fight for your life then there is no middle ground, no black and white. You're either with us, or against us,” I said sharply, lifting my eyes from my wand and meeting his cold, grey gaze. “This isn't a game and you can't just keep running and saving your own arse all the time. Stand up and be a man, fight for what you believe and stop caring so much about your own skin.”  
  
He glared at me and snapped back, “I'm well aware that this isn't a game, Granger. If it were a game, I daresay that I'd still be walking. And tell me why I can't keep running? You have been for the past three years.”  
  
The words hit me hard and I stood, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain the temper that was rapidly getting out of control. “Yes,” I admitted. “I did run, but not while the times were perilous. The time came that I needed to stop, and I bloody well did. At least I stay true to what I believe.”  
  
He snorted, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“You didn't support Voldemort because you never held faith in his beliefs, and you don't support your father now. You say you're not a murderer, yet you've been working along side those who are for years. You only came to me when you personally couldn't handle what your father and his allies wanted to do, not when you realized what they wanted to do. How many times would you have stood by while they tortured and murdered innocent people before your conscience got the better of you?” I raged, my voice rising with each word.   
  
“If you hadn't been asked to do the dirty work yourself, would you have even bothered giving the Order this information?” I paused, taking in quick, deep breaths to try and regain the air that had flown from my lungs before finishing with, in a much softer tone, feeling the disappointment, “Maybe I was wrong ... maybe you haven't changed. Because from what I can see, you're still the coward you always were, running away when things get too tough.”  
  
He was struggling to pull himself into a sitting position on the couch when I turned to go back into the kitchen, needing a strong cup of tea, but I stopped in between the two rooms when he shouted back at me, “I have changed, and I can damn well tell you that I'm not the only one in this house who has! Look at you, Granger, running away, living like a muggle, turning your back on your world at a time when they needed you the most!”  
  
Slowly, I turned back to him, hurt by his words more than I'd care to admit. I glared at him and hissed, “You, of all the people I know, have absolutely no right to judge me. I did what I did ... as did you. Perhaps it wasn't the right choice, but it's the one I made, it's the one I needed to make and it is my life to live. You ... you are below human, Draco Malfoy ... you have no right,  _no right,_  to judge me after some of the decisions you have made throughout your life.” My words had been low and measured and I could tell by the look on his face that they'd had an effect.  
  
I didn't give him a chance to respond, suddenly feeling like a caged animal and needing to escape. I turned on my heel and strode straight through the kitchen and out the back door. I crossed the back porch and carefully made my way down the three steps, worried that in my state even that small amount could trip me.   
  
Outside in the fresh air the breaths I took were cleansing and calming, two things I was in desperate need of. I walked towards the lake, wrapping my arms around myself and biting my lip so hard that I tasted blood. I refused to cry, even as the tears welled up. I would most certainly not let him get to me.  
  
As I walked around the small lake that sat in the same clearing as my cottage, I looked down and caught sight of my own reflection in the clear water. It was something I often avoided, my own reflection, only looking at the mirror in the morning long enough to ensure I was of an acceptable appearance before turning my back to the ghastly thing. It was my eyes I hated the most, because even I could see that they were disturbingly haunted, that they were almost lifeless.   
  
That was what I had become though. I was a ghost of myself. I could remember what I used to be like; bright-eyed, intelligent, and full of dreams. I guessed I was still intelligent, but my eyes were so dim now and I'd long since given up on any dreams that I may have had. Now I just wanted to live out a peaceful, solo existence. I wanted to heal, I wanted to stop having nightmares, I wanted to stop hurting.   
  
But none of that was possible, and I doubted it ever would be.  
  
I'm unsure how long I was outside by the lake, but the sun was directly above me when I brought myself back from whatever wanderings my mind had been on and decided to make my way back inside. I didn't go back into the living room, staying in the kitchen and going about making a couple of sandwiches for lunch.   
  
As I was buttering the bread a voice from behind me almost scared me to death, “I'm sorry.”  
  
I whipped around to find Draco leaning heavily against the arch that led to the living room, obviously in a lot of pain from the effort it must have taken him to stand up and get from the couch to there, and sweating more than a little.   
  
Immediately I rushed to him and took as much of his weight as I could onto myself and off his leg. I wrapped my arms around his mid-section, holding him up and his arm came to rest on my shoulder.  
  
“What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?” I snapped, glancing down at his injured knee. “You shouldn't bloody well be moving at all, let alone walking!” And then what he had said processed through my mind and my head snapped up, my eyes meeting his from only inches away. “What did you say?”  
  
He looked into my eyes as deeply as he possibly could and whispered, “I said I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said to you just then ... I'm sorry for everything I've ever said to you.”  
  
I gaped at him for a few good seconds before shaking my head and asking quietly, “Why are you apologizing to me?”  
  
“Because I have changed,” he said, his voice more forceful then it had just been. He sucked in a deep breath and dropped his eyes for a moment, before lifting them once more and saying, his tone the softest I had ever heard it since the day we met, “I don't want to be, Lucius, Granger. He taught me to never apologize, so ... I'm sorry, really ... I don't ...”  
  
He swallowed harshly and I swear that there were tears in his eyes, but his head fell so that I couldn't see them. An odd feeling washed over me as I saw how much he was suffering, an odd need to protect him, to help him.  
  
“I know, Draco,” I told him, purposefully using his first name. His head rose suddenly and he looked at me in shock, so I simply tightened the grip I had on him and met his eyes so that he could see the honest truth in mine when I said, “I know. It'll be alright.” I paused for a breath, allowing a long moment of sincere eye contact before changing the subject. “Now we have to get you off this knee, okay?”  
  
With a heavy head, he nodded and slowly I helped him turn around and make the painful trip back to the couch, where I laid him down and told him I was going back to finish our lunch.   
  
Just before I turned around, his cool hand wrapped around my wrist and he told me, his voice solid and strong once more, but without any of his usual arrogance, “I've made my choice ... Hermione ... I'll only fight against them, against him ... I'm with you.”


	9. Swimming

“I said I want to sit down!” Malfoy snapped at me and I rolled my eyes, muttering things about his damned stubbornness under my breath as I helped him back to the couch.

The crutches I had borrowed from the village nurse on the previous days trip to town fell to the floor beside him and I sat down next to him and told him sharply, “You're going to have to have some patience, Malfoy. Your broken leg is fine now, but your knee ... you're lucky you can even walk at all with the damage that was done. You won't be able to walk on it overnight, but if you have some bloody patience, you will be able to eventually. It's a matter of progress and time, not just wishing it would happen already.”

When I looked at him, I couldn't help but sigh. His entire form was shaking slightly from the effort he had just exuded, his pointed face was crinkled in a scowl and his eyes were dark. Great, Draco Malfoy in full brooding mode. He didn't even respond to what I'd said. Throwing my hands up in the air, I got off the couch and stalked into the kitchen, going about making myself a cup of tea. 

Hearing the tell-tale sign of the crutches behind me, I spoke over my shoulder, “Do you want a cup?”

“Yes,” he growled and then struggled for a moment to get himself onto a chair. 

The crutches had been a great help, even if he were still getting used to them. He could move around on his own fairly easily now, but whenever he, with my help, attempted to make progress walking on his injured leg, he'd give up after a total of five minutes. If he kept making things difficult, for both himself and me, then it was going to be a long road to recovery.

With the tea made, I walked to the table and handed him the cup before sitting down to his right and sipping at my own. Oddly enough, I could barely stand the silence now that he was here. I had loved the fact that I didn't have to make conversation with anyone when it was just me, but in the week that he had been here I had become accustomed to using my voice again, and now being around another person, the silence felt uncomfortable.

So I spoke, “I am trying to help you, Malfoy, the least you could do is try to help yourself.”

“I know,” he said, his voice still sulky and his gaze avoiding mine at all costs. “Look ...” he began but trailed off, staring out the open back door, his face going from shadowed to contemplative. I didn't speak, waiting for him to say something this time, waiting to see if he would tell me what was on his mind. “Let's go for a swim.”

“What?” I gasped, choking on my tea as the great prat had decided to speak just as I was taking a sip.

“There's a perfectly good lake out there,” he said, pointing out the back door. “Let's make use of it and go for a swim.”

With his repeated words, he managed to get out of the chair, pulling his crutches under his arms and using them to leave the cottage. I stood, placing my tea on the table and followed him, completely dumbfounded. He shook me off with only a few muttered grumbles when I tried to help him down the stairs. He hobbled to the side of the lake, where he sat down.

I was still standing at the edge of the back porch when he first attempted to take his shirt off, failing due to his gash, which was very nearly healed, but still causing him pain, making it difficult to raise his left arm. “Granger!” he yelled back at me. “Get down here and give me a bloody hand, will you?”

Snapping into action, I hurried on down and crouched on his injured side, helping him remove one of the shirts I had transfigured for him. This wasn't the first time I'd had to help him like this and I'd been able to get over any discomfort the act may have made me feel. His cut was no longer wrapped in a bandage, but the area around the mostly healed wound was still bruised badly and surrounded by an angry red colour.

Before he could escape, I held him firm and ran my wand over the injury, not even flinching when he snapped, “What are you doing, Granger? I thought you said it was fine when you took the bandage off it.”

“I did,” I responded calmly, trying with all my might not to allow his words to aggravate me, or at least attempting to keep the aggravation out of my tone. “I'm just double checking to be certain that there is still nowhere that it's opened. That water isn't pure; it could infect it if I don't make sure.”

A growl came from his throat, but he didn't say anything expect a relatively subdued, “Hurry up then.”

When I was done and it seemed that every inch of the wound was sealed, I nodded, more to myself then to him. With that sign though, he started shuffling forward towards the water. I resisted the instinct to help him, knowing that he considered all the help I'd been giving him recently embarrassing. 

Draco had been raised to be proud, I knew, and it wasn't easy for him to accept assistance. Really, I think that had been why he was having so much trouble while trying to walk again, simply because I was helping him and he believed, more than likely thanks to his horrible father, that he should be able to do anything and everything on his own. 

Besides, the water was only a meter and a half away, he could get there on his own easily enough. I watched his pale back shuffling forward and froze. The sun had glinted off of something and I didn't think it was sweat. 

I stood and took a few steps closer as he stuck his feet in the water. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen these before, but then I hadn't really gotten the chance to examine his back close up, since there had been no need being as he wasn't injured there.

“It's a bit cold,” he said, ignorant to my intense stare of shock. “Are you going to get in?”

“Draco,” I whispered, my voice trembling in my horror as I slowly moved to my knees just behind him.

He turned his head back to look at me and I'm certain that his face grew hard when he saw the direction of my gaze. “I was waiting to see how long it would be before you pointed those out,” he stated, his voice deeper and laced with anger, making it gravelly.

Instinctively, as if after so many years of having his anger directed at me I had become an expert on it, I knew that the tone of his voice wasn't for me this time. His entire back was criss-crossed with long, thin, straight scars and with a shocked gasp I realized that he'd been whipped in some way. I reached out a shaking hand and traced a finger down one of the deepest silver lines that marred his pale skin.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, my voice a high, horrified whisper.

He shivered at my touch and said quietly, “Who do you think?”

I felt a hatred like nothing else tighten my chest, all directed at Lucius Malfoy. My hand started shaking even more, my horror and worry now infused with rage as well and I lay my palm over the worst grouping of scars, partly to be touching him and partly to try and still my hand. I knew, without even having to say anything and have him respond, that he had not been a man when he had suffered these traumas. 

But I spoke anyway, wanting to hear it from him, desiring, for a reason that was completely unknown and utterly baffling, for him to confide something like this in me. “These scars aren't recent, Draco.”

He dropped his head so that he was looking at his lap, his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet still in the water, and his hands began to wring together. Even though I was behind him, I had a feeling that his face was haunted and thoughtful. “No, they aren't,” he said softly and took a deep breath before continuing. “They're from when I was ... a child.”

I took a deep, sharp breath of my own and was about to say more when he lifted his head again and, in one swift movement which I knew must have hurt him, he pushed himself into the water. I watched as he waded in deeper, primarily using his arms to move, but my mind wasn't on this Draco, it was on the little boy that seemed to never have gotten a chance at true innocence. 

At least the reason I now out-right hated Lucius Malfoy had been confirmed. Doing something like that painted, in my mind at least, an image of darkness. If the senior Malfoy could do that to a child, his own son no less, then he wasn't human. Tom Riddle may have split his soul, but at that moment, I wasn't sure if Lucius Malfoy even had one. What he had done was cold and completely heartless. 

Standing, I picked up his shirt and walked to the tall willow tree that shaded the area surrounding it, leaning my back against its trunk and sliding down. I could still feel myself shaking, but the warm, refreshing air, along with my own will-power, was making me calmer. 

I sat, simply watching Malfoy attempt to do laps from one side of the small lake to the other. The way he kept veering towards the right since he could only kick one leg, and then cursing when he realized he was doing that, was amusing and it served to diminish the rage that had just been flooding through my veins.

When he finally got out, the sun was beginning to set and I knew I should go and cook the steaks that we were having for dinner, but I had no intention of leaving him by himself. He struggled to get back onto his feet, and once again I had to resist the urge to help him, but once he did, I noticed a tiny, proud smile on his face right before he hopped over to me. As I was just about to get up, he sat down, so I shrugged to myself and stayed next to him.

He leaned against the tree, painfully keeping his right leg held out in front of him. His knee was badly bruised and peppered with scratches, but that was just a cover for the damage that had been done underneath, to the cartilage and muscle. He'd walk again though, and I guess that's what's important, even if he limped. I held out his shirt and instead of putting it back on, he used it to wipe the water from his chest and face.

“How is your knee feeling?” I asked.

Leaning forward, he rubbed it softly, wincing as he did so and then straightened his back again and turned to me. “Hurting like all fuck.”

“Malfoy,” I scolded his cursing, glaring at him. But then, that was a bit hypocritical because after all those years with Ron and Harry, though mostly after their deaths, I had noticed that I'd been swearing quite a bit, even if there had previously been no one else around to hear it but myself. 

Losing my frown, I looked towards the lake and became thoughtful. “You know,” I said, beginning to think out loud, “Swimming may not be a bad idea, it might strengthen your knee a bit more if you can work it without putting the pressure of your body on it.”

“You aren't half-bad at this medical stuff, are you, Granger? Why didn't you ever become a Healer?” he asked, looking at me with a smirk.

I looked back towards him, meeting his eyes and looking into them as deeply as I could. “Why did you still follow your father after how he treated you?” I inquired, shocking myself with the question as I'd had no intention of asking.

Malfoy was shocked too, but he recovered quickly and scowled, shaking his head and looking out over the mountains, where the sun was sinking from the sky. “I don't want to talk about that, Granger.”

With a sigh, I nodded, “Okay.”

His head snapped back to me and his eyebrows rose, more than likely expecting me to ignore the fact that he didn't want to talk about it, over the fact that I did. “Really?”

“I won't pressure you, Malfoy,” I told him. “Quite frankly, it's your own business and I had no right to ask. But ... if you ever do want to talk about it ... I'll still be curious.”

How can he smirk and smile at the same time like that? I wondered as I got to my feet and then held out my hand. He took it and I pulled him up, giving in to the urge this time and helping him get onto his crutches. He moved beside me as we made our way back to the house and then, as I stayed in the kitchen to prepare the evening's meal, he kept on going, telling me he was having a shower.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, almost absently.

When I turned in his direction, he was paused and half-turned in the archway, looking at me. He shook his head, “No ... thanks.”

Then, while I stood there, speechless over his polite response, he kept going on through to the hallway. It was at that moment, as I turned back to the stove, shaking my head in disbelief over the fact that he had just actually thanked me for something, I realized that ... I didn't despise him anymore. And, as his actions and words seemed to prove, he didn't hate me anymore either.


	10. Nightmares

The days seemed to be passing slower than usual, an effect which was probably caused by my worry and frustration over what the Order was doing. I had received little information from Remus, him only telling me that they were still trying to rebuild some of their connections, the team was still brain-storming, nothing serious was happening yet.   
  
Quite frankly, I was suspicious of how little his notes included. Anger at the Order was burning in my chest, knowing that there had to be more going on then I had been informed of.  
  
Then again, the snail like passage of time may have been caused by my house guest. I looked over at him from my seat on the arm chair, to where he was laying on the long couch, still reading page after page of my novel.   
  
From the occasional scoffs, snorts, and mumbled curses, I could tell that he was at least interested in what I had written, and due to the fact that I had often seen him thumbing through it, in the most he was utterly fascinated.   
  
It wasn't too late, only a little past nine, and a storm had been brewing all day if the angry dark clouds in the sky were any indication. The fire roared at the front of the room, keeping the cool away, and yet I still shivered as I thought about a night of pouring rain, crackling thunder, and fiery lightning. I was not looking forward to that, even though it had yet to start.   
  
Reaching out, I picked up the glass of red wine off the coffee table and took a sip before replacing it and leaning back into the arm chair again. I lifted the book I was currently reading, an old work of fiction that I had only just managed to get around to, and absorbed myself in the words, forgetting about the Order, Lucius Malfoy, Draco, and the oncoming storm.   
  
It was a beautiful gift I had learned a long time ago, giving myself the ability to completely lose focus on the world around me when I was buried in a book, one that I felt blessed for having.   
  
When I was attending Hogwarts, and even before that, I had hardly ever read much fiction, too intent on learning all the facts that I could and not really interested in the world of imagination, as it didn't seem to hold any use in my pursuit of knowledge. But since the war, I have found that a good work of fiction was a nice reprieve from the world that I lived in and it was always good to get away, even from my own mind.  
  
A crack of thunder startled me back to the real world and I jumped, shaking and looking out of the window. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, averting my gaze from the dark night outside and turning instead to the clock, noting with more than a little surprise that I'd been reading for quite some time and it was now nearing on eleven at night. I turned back to my book, trying not to get lost in it this time, trying to stay grounded to the world I lived in, just long enough to finish the chapter.  
  
When I did, I happened to realize that Malfoy had gone rather quiet, and there had been no snorting in quite some time. Lifting my eyes to his face, I drew back slightly when I found his gaze staring upon me firmly. I raised an eyebrow at him and queried, “What?”  
  
There was an unusual sadness in his eyes as he looked at me and his voice was quiet, with a slight quiver in it when he responded. “They took you,” he whispered and I drew in a sharp breath, knowing exactly what part of the book he had reached. He went on, “You were taken captive by them.”  
  
Swallowing the dry lump that had formed in my throat, I took a deep breath and clutched my book close to my chest, as if it could protect me. I nodded slowly. “Yes, I was.” My answer was short and I'm sure I got paler. Steeling myself as much as I could, I shook my head and told him, “But I was only there three days ... Harry and Ron got me out.”  
  
“Three days is a long time to be in a Death Eater cell,” he stated, his voice gentle and understanding. “Did they ...?”  
  
He trailed off, but he didn't need to ask the question. “No,” I stated, my voice firm. “They didn't rape me. They never got the chance. One of those days was also the day that they blew up the London Bridge and attacked Buckingham ...” I shook my head again, as if trying to remove all those thoughts from my mind. “They were too busy. I was rescued and came out of it a little worse for wear, but fine.”  
  
I was trying to brush off the subject, but the subtle trembling of my entire body must have let him on, even though I hadn't even noticed that I'd started to shake. “You were tortured?”  
  
With a small smile that was quite obviously forced, I said, “A few crucio's ... nothing I couldn't handle.”  
  
He cocked an arrogantly disbelieving eyebrow, but there was no smirk on his face, no smile, in fact it was grim and drawn. “You're talking to a former Death Eater right now, Granger ... I know what they do to prisoners, and even them being busy wouldn't stop them if the girl is pretty enough.”  
  
If we were talking about anything else, I would have questioned the 'pretty' comment, but as the conversation was, my mind was focused on something else. Frustrated, with my skin crawling as if I were back there, in that cold, dark, dank cell, I stood, my book still protecting my chest, but the knuckles gripping it had turned white.   
  
I moved away from him, out of fear, out of need, I didn't know, and towards the fireplace, where I looked down at the roaring flames as they consumed the smoky wood, needing to feel its warmth.  
  
“Do you really want to know what they did to me, Malfoy?” I asked, as much anger as I could gather infused into my voice.   
  
I didn't turn around to look at him as he answered, keeping my back to him, but my other senses were open for any indication of movement. There was none, except his voice. “I know what they did to you, Granger, but ... have you ever told anyone else?”  
  
I shook my head, shuddering. “No.” My voice was barely above a whisper, all the anger used up and my tone was now more that of a frightened little girl.  
  
“Maybe you should tell it to someone who already knows. You know I won't judge you, you know I won't pity you ... but it would be healthy to get it off your chest. I don't want details, Granger; I just want you to admit it. In your book, you barely graze over it, just mentioning how you were captured and then rescued ... there's no mention of those other three days in here.” He paused to take a breath and gather more thoughts. “You said they didn't rape you, okay, but did they --”  
  
“Yes,” I cut him off. “I ... I was violated ... and I was tortured ... and no, not just a few c-crucio's.” I cursed my voice for cracking, but the tears were already running down my face, unstoppable.  
  
“Yeah,” Malfoy said quietly, and just as he had said I could hear no judgment or pity in his voice, not directed at me anyway. “They tire of that pretty quickly and try to get more ... creative. I bet you've got a few impressive scars, yourself.”  
  
Nodding, I reached up and wiped the tears from my face, answering, “I do,” and then sniffed loudly while shaking my head in a futile attempt to clear it. I straightened my shoulders, exuding more strength than I felt and turned back to him.   
  
Walking over I placed my book on the coffee table before saying, my voice much more firm than it had been, “It's late, we should get to sleep.”  
  
His eyes were piercing right through me, even though I refused to meet them, studying me intently, but after a long moment he relented, allowing me to help him to his feet and onto his crutches. We extinguished the lights after making sure the doors were locked and the windows shut and then made our way down the hall, where we had gotten used to sharing the bathroom sink to brush our teeth.   
  
Parting at our respective bedroom doors, for the first time since he'd arrived, Malfoy called to me, “Goodnight, Hermione.”  
  
I turned back to him after just opening my door and saw him standing in his own. My entire face and body softened at the concern he had and I gave a small smile, all I could manage, and returned, “Goodnight, Draco.”  
  
He gave the smile back and then turned, hopping on into his bedroom and closing the door behind him. After a moment, I followed suit. When I was finally ready to try and sleep, my hair brushed out and my nightgown on, I stood beside the bed, gazing down at it fearfully.   
  
The bed was not a happy place for me, not a place of rest or anything of the sort. I'd spent many nights screaming in this bed, and not in the good way.  
  
With a resigned sigh, I crawled in and made myself comfortable, glancing one last time out of the window at the coming storm, before attempting to let the wine I'd had relax my body to the point of being capable of sleep and begging Merlin that the night would be peaceful.   
  
My pleas went unheard, apparently.  
  
 _Darkness ... it's dark and cold and the smell ... Merlin, the smell ... burning flesh. Head is pounding, I'm dizzy. Concussion? Yeah ... con – what? I don't know where I am, but it's dark ... and cold. So dizzy. Stomach's rolling; I think I'm going to ... yuck.  
  
Voices ... not far, with footsteps, getting closer ... closer ... light! There's light and a fuzzy figure outlined ... he laughs ... evil, sinister. That's not good ... panic setting in. More scraping metal then hands, gripping my arms ... vice-like grips, definitely bruising. I fight, but ... I'm so dizzy and my head ... God, it hurts.  
  
... Pain! Unbelievable pain ... white-hot knives ... stop ... stop it! Screaming ... Dear Merlin, kill me, I don't care just stop it ... Falling ... it doesn't hurt so much, but still, aching, boiling ... harsh stone beneath my hands ... and more laughter ... more dark, sinister ... terrifying laughter. Harry ... Ron ... where are you? Help me ... please ... get me out of here ...  
  
”We don't have much time, Xavier, let me have some fun with these and then if there's still time you can play with her a bit.”  
  
Woman's voice, not the laughing man ... but not ... what's her name? Merlin it hurts ... Bella, no, not Bellatrix ... so scared ... more hands ... don't touch me! Everywhere burns ... everywhere aches, no ... my wrists ... ropes digging into the flesh ... more pain ... more knives ... please, please don't! I'll do anything just .... It stops again ... can't breathe ... so hot ... so much pain ...   
  
”Look at me, girl.”  
  
Commanding ... won't open eyes ... hurts too much ... won't open them ... stop it ... not much light ... but blue eyes ... so dark, not like Ron's ... oh, Ron ... Harry ...  
  
What are you doing? What is that? No ... that's acidic, don't ... No! Stop! Please! It burns ... my chest ... please ... No! Screaming, so much screaming ... more burning flesh, so potent, so putrid ... it's me, isn't it? I can feel it ... please stop, please! Eating away ... No!_  
  
I snapped awake to a loud crash of thunder, sweat soaking my body, my entire form shaking uncontrollably. I sat up straight, struggling to breathe, still completely lost in the nightmare I had just relived.   
  
I looked around frantically, knowing in some part of my mind that I was back in my room, in my home, safe in my peaceful little cottage and that was nothing more than a memory, but still moving on the adrenaline that coursed through my body.  
  
Backing up against the headboard of the bed, I tightened the sweat-soaked sheets around me and in an unconscious call, my wand flew into my hand. That was about the point the door slammed open, scaring the life out of me and making me try and get in closer to the headboard and make myself as small as possible.   
  
I pointed my wand, my hand shaking badly, towards the door and distantly heard Crookshanks hiss and a mutter of, “Damn cat.”  
  
An extra weight was applied to the bed and a firm, but gentle hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. I recognized the soothing voice that spoke to me, gently bringing me further out of the horrors that haunted my dream.   
  
“You couldn't hurt a damn mouse with that thing right now, Granger,” Draco told me as he carefully plucked my wand from my tight grip and tossed it on the bedside table.  
  
Back in the real world, I somehow felt very safe with him. I was still shaking terribly, but his touch was comforting as he swept wet hair back out of my eyes. The sob tore from my throat and it was more than likely that I'd been crying before I'd even woken, so the tears only came faster. He reached forward, pulling my fragile frame into his arms and I clung to him, mindless of his injuries, my fingernails digging into his bare back as I bawled against his chest.  
  
His hold on me only tightened as I let myself go even further and he was whispering into my hair, words I didn't hear, but didn't need to. It was his voice more than anything that served to calm me, to make me feel safe once again. There was nothing romantic about the embrace, I was simply someone who needed comfort and afterwards, when I could think properly, I got the feeling that he needed to give it.  
  
I sobbed and cried against him for ages, until the torrent of emotions, which had needed for so long to be released, dwindled down until it was merely a trickle. Still sniffing and hiccupping, I loosened my grip on his back, but kept my head buried in his chest, feeling the safest I had since ... since Harry was still alive. Not even Molly's warmth the night of the Order meeting compared to the safety I felt in the arms of a man that I ... could trust my life with.  
  
This was no small shock, the fact that I was able to compare the feeling I had gotten in that moment with Draco, with that of Harry or Ron. It stunned me so much and I have no idea why, or how, or when, or anything, but somehow, in less than two weeks, I had come to trust Draco Malfoy. It didn't seem possible at all, in fact it seemed down right insane, but that was how I felt with him there. I thought it best to blame it on my emotional state at the time.  
  
He pulled back a bit, so he could wipe more hair from my face and meet my eyes. I was still shaking badly but I was gradually calming, and since I couldn't fight it, and had no will to do so, I let him chase away the remnants of the nightmare.   
  
“You okay, Granger?” his voice questioned, much stronger than his random whisperings just moments ago.  
  
I nodded, jerkily, and wiped at my face a bit, sniffing and taking a number of deep breaths. “Yes, just a nightmare. I'm fine.” It was then that I remembered his injuries and instantly looked down. “You're knee!” I exclaimed, then looked back up at him and then around the room, “Where are your crutches? You didn't ... you didn't run here on a seriously damaged knee, did you? Oh Malfoy, you prat!”  
  
He smiled slightly, “That's the Granger I know. Don't you worry about my knee ... it's hurting like all hell, but I'll live. You almost scared me to death, though. I heard you screaming and ...” He trailed off, shaking his head, “Try not to do that to me again, Granger.”  
  
Dropping my gaze from his, I confided in him quietly, “I haven't had one like that in ... Merlin, I can't even remember the last time. They haven't been that bad in a while though. I'm guessing it's the storm, plus that talk we had this evening.”   
  
With my head down, I was able to see my attire. I was still in my satin nightgown, which, although it didn't become see-through, had gotten clingy due to the amount I had been sweating. The sheet had come down when Malfoy had taken me in his arms, but it wasn't at all revealing.   
  
Also, now that my head was clear, I became very aware that Draco was only wearing his sleeping briefs. It wasn't only that, though, it was the proximity of our bodies, since I was pretty much still wrapped in his embrace.  
  
Blushing to myself and hoping that the darkness of my room would cover that, I began to move away from him, stammering something like, “I'll go and grab your crutches for you,” and hoping it would be a plausible escape.   
  
He grabbed me before I could completely get away from him, and after brushing another stray tear off my face, he told me, “Best you go wash up a bit first, you look like hell.” Such a Malfoy comment to make, but I couldn't help but notice that his voice had dropped a bit and was a little husky.  
  
After a deep breath, I nodded and crawled off the bed, walking out of my own room and to the bathroom. When I caught a brief sight of myself in the mirror above the sink, I groaned. I really did look like hell. Dropping my head so that I wouldn't have to see myself, I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, then rubbed my eyes and ran a hand through my hair.   
  
The effects of the nightmare hadn't completely worn off however, as my hand was still shaking and I could feel that my heart rate was still a little high. I bit my fist to cut off another sob as the images rushed through my mind again.   
  
I squeezed my eyes shut and reminded myself to take deep breaths, but it took at least another minute for me to fully calm down again. When I did, I repeated the act of dousing my face in cold water and then dried up, leaving the bathroom.  
  
I picked up his crutches from the side of his bed and when I made my way back to my room, he was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking at his forearm. Curious, I walked over and was able to see in the dim light of the room that he had a series of red scratches over his faded Dark Mark.   
  
“Did Crookshanks do that?” I asked quickly and sat down beside him.  
  
He nodded, glancing at the orange cat that was walking around in a circle at the end of my bed trying to find a comfortable place to go back to sleep. “He's pretty protective of you, bloody pest.”  
  
“That was very naughty of you, Crooks,” I reprimanded and glared at the cat. Crookshanks just looked straight back at me before yawning, lying down and closing his eyes.  
  
Reaching over I grabbed my wand from where Draco had thrown it on my bedside table and as I was picking it up, caught a glance of the alarm clock. Quarter to four in the morning, wonderful. With a sigh, I turned back to Malfoy and ran my wand over the scratches, healing them almost absently and taking a moment to look at his Dark Mark.  
  
Draco, seeing the direction of my gaze, pulled his arm away and looked at the clock as well. “Will you be able to go back to sleep?” His tone was serious, knowing and sympathetic. I sighed and shook my head, admitting that there was no chance of that. Back on his crutches, he began hobbling towards the doorway and said, “Then it's morning anyway, let's have an early breakfast, I'll help you cook.”  
  
“Can you cook, Malfoy?” I asked sceptically, knowing that his family had used house-elves and he'd probably never learned the skill.  
  
He stopped at the doorway and turned himself a little bit sideways so he could look at me. He huffed a little before he spoke, “No, but I'm a quick learner and I can make a much better cup of coffee than you, that's for sure.”

  



	11. Interlude

She let out a deep sigh and pushed her chair away from her desk slightly, cracking her neck and stretching her bones. Glancing at the paper still embedded in the typewriter, she pulled it out and placed it on a face-down stack that was beside her; another chapter, another moment in her life, written and done with for now.  
  
After working on this book, their story, for almost six months, she finally felt as if she were getting somewhere with it. She had hit the turning point, at least, the point where the atmosphere in the cottage had thickened, where the tremulous relationship between its two occupants had unwillingly changed. They had become aware of each other physically, something which had led her life, both their lives actually, to change even more drastically than the events she had spent the previous months writing about had.   
  
Turning in her chair, she looked around her bedroom, where her desk had been moved years ago. Her focus rested on the bed, the same bed she had just written about, the same bed where all that time ago, he had comforted her while she was at her weakest, the exact place where things had began to subtly change between them.   
  
She could remember that moment as if it were yesterday, the two of them sitting there and realizing that they weren't just two people in a difficult situation, but they were a man and a woman in a difficult situation.  
  
It was also the bed that ... No, she wouldn't allow her thoughts to go there at this moment; she cut them off quickly, shaking her head. There was plenty of time to dwell on that at night, when she lay in the bed, begging Merlin that the nightmares wouldn't come, that she wouldn't have to think about any of it, that she could rest peacefully, if only for one night.  
  
She scoffed at herself as the thoughts came anyway, like they always did. Even after all these years, she still thought she could control her mind enough to keep them away, could stave off the memories with sheer willpower, even though experience should have taught her better. Every time she tried to chase the thoughts away, they would come, with or without her consent.  
  
She could practically feel his hands on her trembling body, their cool temperature leaving goosebumps on her warm skin as they travelled up her arms. She could hear his calming whispers, his voice keeping her away from those dark memories that haunted her mind.   
  
The booming laugh of a man coming from the direction of the kitchen was enough to bring her back to reality and she smiled fondly at the voice, wondering what it was that had him chuckling so heartily. She wouldn't go and find out though, not while she was in this state of mind, not while her thoughts were focused on painful memories and some of the most important moments of her life.  
  
Turning back to the typewriter she inserted another sheet of white paper and then placed her fingers on the keys, only to keep them still as she stared at the blank sheet of A4. Her minds eye wasn't seeing paper, though; it was travelling through her memories and sorting her rampant thoughts. There was so much still to tell, so many words that needed to be written before she could sit back and allow that part of her life to be closed forever, the tale told and a weight lifted from her shoulders.  
  
She wondered to herself what he would say if he read this book. Would he approve of her version of the story? Would he remember it all just as clearly as she did?   
  
He had read her first book, commenting here and there on the events in it, telling her his truthful thoughts, asking questions, wanting her to go into further detail on some of the things she had merely glanced over. But this particular story would be different for him, more personal. Both books were very personal for her, but he hadn't really been a part of the life endured in the first.   
  
If she really thought about it though, she knew what his reaction would be. He would smile and laugh at some of the moments as he too recalled them, he'd add in little details, things that her memory had forgotten, and she knew without a doubt, that he'd most definitely approve. If only because he was, even after the changes he'd made, a self-indulged prick and he'd love to see the reactions people would have when they read about him in such a bright light.  
  
Smiling to herself, sadness in her eyes, she shook her head again. That would be just like him. She'd come to know him better than anyone else in the world, so even with things being as they were she could predict his reactions to just about anything, this included. A few scoffs and snorts, a little laughter, and quite a bit of head-swelling.  
  
Lifting one of her hands, she rubbed her eyes as tears blossomed in them. She'd done too much crying in her life and she was sick of it. Also, he would hate to see the tears, especially if they were over him and their time together.   
  
Growling under her breath, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath, shaking off the painful feelings that shook her body as much as she could and absolutely refusing to let a single tear fall. Straightening her back, she looked at the white paper again, much more focused this time. She had a book to write, a story to finish telling.   
  
With another deep breath, she strengthened her resolve and steeled herself before allowing her prodigious mind to take her back to that time. Her fingers began tapping at the keys again, printing the rest of the tale onto paper.

  



	12. Trust

My third weekly trip into the village since Malfoy's arrival marked two entire weeks since he'd came to me for help and we'd been forced to spend time together. Only, now it didn't seem like so much of a chore. In fact, I was beginning to enjoy his companionship and was finding it pleasant to have someone to talk to during the day. Even the silent company in the evenings when we would both sit in front of the fire and read was comforting.  
  
It was so odd, that we hadn't managed to get on in six years at Hogwarts, that we hadn't been capable of one civilized conversation in all that time and yet, two weeks in an isolated cottage together and we were both, for even without him speaking the words I knew he was as well, coming to rely on each other's presence.   
  
We hadn't spoken of what had happened in my bedroom a couple of nights ago; not of the nightmare, which even as I was walking back to the cottage thinking of it made me shudder, nor of what had happened to the both of us when I had calmed down and we'd been so close in nothing but our night clothes. Still, the effect of that moment was present.  
  
I knew Malfoy was feeling it as well, just as I'd known that night that he'd noticed it too, by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. We were now physically aware of each other in a much different way than we had been since we'd met when we were eleven. In short, I've always know that Draco Malfoy was a male, but I was now well aware that he was a  _man._  
  
The air in the cottage seemed to crackle at certain moments, like when our hands would brush each others while I was teaching him to cook, or when I'd be so close to him while checking his knee, or when our eyes would meet all too suddenly in the firelight at night.   
  
It was frustrating the hell out of me. I knew, for one, that I was certainly not falling for him, definitely not. But ... when the water was glistening off his body after he'd had his afternoon swim in the lake ...  
  
Shaking my head, I reprimanded myself for allowing my thoughts to travel in that direction and walked into the cottage, straight to the kitchen where I placed my packages on the table and immediately looked around for Malfoy. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, so I shrugged to myself and put everything away.   
  
Once that was done, I went searching for him, only to find him under the large willow tree near the lake. He was intently focused on something and as I drew closer I saw him holding a knife, carving at a stick. “What are you doing?” I asked, sitting down beside him and watching the knife as it continued to hack away at the piece of wood.  
  
He barely glanced up at me before turning his eyes back to his hands. “Got bored,” he answered, shrugging.  
  
“A kitchen knife is hardly proper equipment to carve something with,” I informed him, a touch of my know-it-all attitude in my voice.  
  
Smiling, he shrugged again. “Well, you don't really have any other knives lying around, so I'm using what I can. If I had my wand ...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But I'm not going to ask you for it. You don't trust me, I understand that. If you ever do come to trust me,” he'd said that with a small snort, “then you'll give it back.”  
  
Thinking to myself for a moment, I pulled out my own wand and flicked it in the direction of the house. Malfoy, being intent on his stick and knife didn't notice. Less than a minute later, his wand came zooming out the back door through the air and I caught it. He looked up when he'd heard the small whooshing sound it had made and then eyed the piece of wood in my hand carefully.  
  
With a deep breath of my own, I held it out to him. Hesitantly, his eyes meeting mine and not leaving, he reached out and took it. I didn't let go immediately and we sat there, both of us holding his wand for a long moment, our eyes still in contact, before he spoke quietly, “You ... trust me?”  
  
His voice was incredulous and I let go of the wand, allowing him to take it. Shrugging and still not breaking away from his gaze, I answered, “Utterly and completely? No, and I'm unsure if I ever will. With my life? Yes.” Looking down at my lap, I continued contemplatively, “I mean, you saved my life twice without being asked ... I doubt you'd take it after all you've done to keep me alive.”  
  
“I won't,” he answered solidly and when I looked back up at him he was smiling at me. “But you know I could just apparate away now?”   
  
“Where would you go?” I shot back.  
  
Grinning, he dropped the knife to his side and turned his wand on the stick he held. “That's a good question, precisely why I won't be killing you anytime soon.” After a brief chuckle, he went on, “Though I daresay, a duel between the two of us would be a sight to see.”  
  
Nodding, I gave a brief laugh myself before saying, “You know I'd kick your arse, right?”  
  
He laughed, “Only because I'm injured. We'll duke it out once I can move properly again and see how it goes.”   
  
Joking with Draco Malfoy made me shake my head in wonder. I leaned back against the tree, perfectly content to relax in the warm day while he whittled away, carving something with his wand. “Have you ever done that before?”  
  
“No,” he replied and then held up whatever he'd created from the stick. I had no idea what the mangled piece of wood was supposed to be and that probably showed clearly on my face because he said, “I was going for an ornament of some sort, a star or something. Guess I need a bit more practice.”  
  
“A hobby is always good to have,” I said and then closed my eyes, relaxing a little more, unaware that he was still looking at me.  
  
There was silence for a while and I didn't bother reopening my eyes when he spoke, “You haven't written any of your book since I got here. I'm almost finished with what you've got done so far, are you going to complete it?”  
  
“Of course, I just haven't really ... been in the mood to since your arrival. Besides, my desk is in your room,” I informed him and had to think about things for a moment. When did I start referring to it as his room?  
  
He snorted, “This from the woman who snapped at me not all that long ago that it was her house and she could go wherever the hell she pleased. I don't mind if you're in there, Granger. After all, you were right, it is your house, I'm the one who's imposing on your space, your life. Anyway, I'd like to see how the book ends.”  
  
“You know how it ends, you were there, remember?” I said lightly, although thoughts of that night made it difficult.  
  
With my eyes closed I didn't see him shaking his head, but did hear the soft, “Not really.”  
  
That comment made me open my eyes and turn my head towards him, my brow furrowed by the cryptic statement and the shame I saw on his face. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I was there, alright. But I was staying out of it as much as I could, just trying to live through it while all the rest of you were out there, fighting.” He shook his head. “I guess that's why I would have never been a Gryffindor, no courage.”  
  
This wasn't the kind of mood I was use to, coming from him, even from this new person he had become. “You saved my life that night.”  
  
He turned to me, meeting my eyes and I saw that they were cold, “Do you think I would have done that if it would have risked my own life in any way?”  
  
To be honest, I had no idea how to answer that question and I admitted as much. “I don't know, Draco. But I do know that you indeed did save my life. I also know that you had the balls to stand up to your father, a man who has been dominating you for your entire life. To me, that's awfully courageous.”   
  
“Yeah, to you, Granger. But you Gryffindor's see courage in just about everything.” He shook his head again. “You said it to me not all that long ago, you know, that I'm a coward. You were right, I am. I've never believed in selfless bravery, Granger, and you ... it's a part of who you are, you do it without even thinking about it.”  
  
“I was raised differently to you, Malfoy, in a loving home where people did things for those around them, where they gave to their fellow man. You were taught to hate all life considered lower than you, you were raised to believe that you were the most important person in the world and your skin was to be saved above all others. It's not nature, Draco, it's nurture.”   
  
My speech got more impassioned by the word as I went on, “But you've already began to throw off those shackles ... when you refused to tell your father where I was so that he could kill me ... that's courage, Malfoy, especially since you were well aware of what would happen to you if he were to find out.”  
  
He was looking off into the distance when I finished, his eyes far away, but I knew that he was absorbing every word I had said. Then, with a deep breath, he handed me the carved piece of wood and his wand, struggled to his feet and, with only a little difficulty, removed his shirt, stating, “I'm going for a swim.”   
  
Without his crutches he began to hop over to the lake, attempting every now and then to walk on his damaged leg. I thought that it may give in on him as he walked, but he made it to the lake just fine and waded in.   
  
I watched him as he swam, thinking over that unusual conversation. Hearing him talk that way, feeling inadequate, was utterly bizarre, but I hadn't been lying when I'd told him that he had performed courageous acts, such that was worthy of a Gryffindor.  
  
Whether or not he chose to believe that, I did not know, but obviously, despite his cocky arrogance, Draco Malfoy had a few insecurities underneath that pure-blood shell, and I had just been witness to one of the few moments when he'd let that show.  
  
I turned over his carving in my hand, smiling a little and shaking my head when I saw that he had done nothing more to the stick than butcher and mutilate it and then I turned to the other piece of wood he had given me.   
  
Would he try to run from here? No. Would he try and hurt me? No ... well, maybe if we were arguing. How I knew these things for sure, I was uncertain, but I did. I could trust my instinct on that, and I could trust Malfoy with his wand.  
  
More than likely, this all came from the feeling I had got a few nights previous when he had been holding me after that horrible nightmare. I had actually associated his hold with that of Harry's. Harry, whom I knew would save me without a doubt if he could, or die trying. I had also had this feeling with Ron when he was alive. His arms around me had been the safest place in the world, even when we were in the middle of Voldemort-customized traps.  
  
An ache built in my chest and I tried with all my might to push it away. Instead, I focused on the fact that I now felt this way when Malfoy held me. I had been blaming it on the way I was feeling at the time, but sitting under the willow, holding his wand while he swam, I wasn't as sure. That couldn't have been all, I knew.   
  
Shaking my head again and looking up, watching him swim around the lake, focused on strengthening his knee, I knew ... I really did trust him with my life, if only because he was an intelligent man and killing me now would just be pointless.

  



	13. Conversations

The days were slowly turning into weeks and before I even realized it, it had been over a month since Malfoy appeared at my doorstep dying. There was little to no word from Remus or anyone else in the Order and that angered me, knowing that they had to be doing  _something_  but that no one had bothered to inform me exactly what. Had I or had I not been a key figure in Lord Voldemort's demise? Were they doing so well that they didn't want my help? Or for that matter, Malfoy's inside knowledge?   
  
I felt useless, sitting around the cottage all day. I had gotten back into my writing, my desk now in my own room as I felt more comfortable without Malfoy looking over my shoulder. I had, in fact, snapped a few rather nasty words at him for just that act before carefully levitating my entire desk, with everything still on it, to my own bedroom.   
  
Yet, writing at such a time didn't help me all that much. I still felt I should be out there, doing something that would help bring about the fall of Lucius Malfoy before the bastard even got a taste of power.  
  
All of that, piled upon, as I had come to call it, the 'intolerable tension' that was floating through the house, and my veins. Things had not gotten easier since my revelation about Draco's, and his about me. The, for lack of a better word, electricity between us had only increased incrementally day by day and was near boiling point.  
  
Of course, I wasn't prepared to act on that. No way. I had not even admitted that I, Merlin help me, wanted him. And if I took to dwelling on it for too long, staring absently out a window and unwillingly wandering off into a daydream, it was only for the fact that I was a hot-blooded woman who had not had the ... company of a man in some time. I assume he was telling himself just about the exact same thing.  
  
I didn't miss the looks he was giving me, I couldn't. He was very sneaky about it, but I had always been quite observant. Besides, I could feel his gaze every time it landed on me in that way, for it was practically setting me on fire.   
  
I wondered if he were just as frustrated as I was, and was given my answer each time I saw him hacking away at a small log with a little more force than was necessary to carve it the way he wanted; pushing himself further in his exercises than he should; smoking more than his now-normal one a day. It was getting to him as well.  
  
We were snapping at each other more than we'd become accustomed to since his arrival, and I'm guessing it was that 'intolerable tension' that was making us antsy. It was all heading towards an explosion and I could barely stand it. So, before I did something that I would end up regretting, I got myself out of there and away from him for a little while.  
  
Again, Hogwarts had that chest-tightening effect on me. Determinedly, I made my way up to the front doors of the castle and was relieved to find that the students were in class this time. Except for one, apparently. A girl, who couldn't of been all that much younger than me, reminding me that in fact I was not as old as I felt, came up to me with a slightly star-struck look on her face.  
  
She was tall and had short blonde hair with large blue eyes. She was sporting the Hufflepuff crest on her robes, along with a glinting Head Girl badge, that made a few wistful thoughts of long-forgotten dreams run through my mind.   
  
“Miss -- Miss Granger,” she stammered. When she held out her hand, I took it politely and plastered a light smile on my face. “I'm Rose Zeller,” she informed me.  
  
Recognizing the name, but not being able to pin the girl exactly, I cocked my head slightly as I looked at her, releasing her hand. “You were here when I went to school, weren't you?”  
  
Blushing, she nodded, “Yes, but that was my first and second years here. I'm Head Girl now.”  
  
I nodded and smiled a little wider at the pride in her tone. “I noticed. Tell me, would you happen to know where the Headmistress is? Or even Professor Lupin?”  
  
“I haven't seen either of them, I'm in a spare and was just on my way back from the library,” she informed me, hefting the pack slung over her shoulder a little higher as she did. “But I'd be happy to escort you to the Headmistress's office.”  
  
“Thank you, Rose, that would be appreciated. I doubt it's still in the same place it was last time I was in there.” I smiled and began to follow her, even as thoughts of that very time filled my mind ... when both Harry and Ron had still been alive.  
  
The girl talked animatedly as we walked, grinning broadly and reminding me an awful lot of myself when I was younger, especially with statements like, “Of course, I've read all about you. And I've heard many things. They say that you would have been the best Head Girl this school had ever seen, had you finished.”  
  
“I certainly would have enjoyed the responsibility,” I replied, trying not to focus too much on the words of our conversation.  
  
Rose continued, oblivious to my darker thoughts. “You still hold just about every academic record the school has ... except the NEWT ones, but since you never sat them, that's understandable. You probably would have smashed them, though. They say you are the brightest witch to walk these halls since Rowena.”  
  
With a small blush of my own, I ducked my head slightly and mumbled, “An overstatement, I assure you.”  
  
She was still grinning wildly when she responded, “I don't think so, I've seen your scores. In fact, I've always held them up as an example, the kind of scores I work hard for. Many were surprised when, after the war,” her voice lowered a level when she said those last few words, but then rose back to its original level as she went on, “you didn't come back and sit your NEWT's. Why didn't you?”  
  
I sighed and I'm certain that I couldn't keep the melancholy look from my face as I told her, “Sometimes there are far more important things than ... books and cleverness.” They were words I had first spoken a very long time ago, when the wizarding world was still new to me, when everything was still an exciting adventure, and they brought about painful feelings, but I went on, “Like bravery and friendship ... love ... keeping yourself sane.”  
  
Rose stopped on a staircase landing and turned to me, looking very inquisitive and thoughtful. “Yes, there are.” She shocked me slightly that, even with as talkative as she was, she didn't say anything more, simply turning back around again and continuing on, dropping that line of questioning for another.   
  
“So what have you really been doing all these years you've been gone? Some say you're hunting down the rest of the Death Eaters in secret, killing them ... the Prophet reports you in about a dozen different places a month, but no one really believes you were there. The only confirmed sighting of you was here a few weeks ago, it was the talk of the school for days.”  
  
“Umm ... I've been taking some time to myself, actually,” I answered, avoiding the direct question as much as I could. “A lot of time.”  
  
Finally, we reached the Headmistress's office and Rose told the gargoyle the password for me. It was grinding and shifting as she turned to me, smiling broadly and held out her hand again. “It was a real honour to talk to you, Miss Granger.” I shook her hand again, smiling back. “You're a real inspiration you know,” she told me and then dropped my hand, hefted her bag higher on her shoulder again and after one last wide grin, turned and walked away.  
  
I watched her go for a moment, in quite a bit of shock before calling after her, “It was nice to meet you, Rose,” and then turning back to the gargoyle.   
  
With only a moment’s hesitation, I began ascending the stairs towards the large, highly polished oak door that would open up to McGonagall's office. I calmed my shaking hand before reaching out and banging the griffin.   
  
When there was no answer for a long moment, I pushed at the door, opening it slightly and stuck my head in. “Professor McGonagall?” I called and received no reply. With a sigh, I opened the door fully and walked in, looking around the circular room that seemed to be empty.  
  
A voice from long ago made my heart race and I nearly jumped out of my skin, “Hermione, how wonderful to see you again, my dear.”  
  
I turned slowly, bracing myself, to face the image of Albus Dumbledore on the wall, smiling serenely at me from inside his portrait. “And you, Professor.”   
  
I hadn't seen him since what would have been my seventh year, and the horcrux hunt when Harry, Ron and I had come to find out what the portrait might know, if anything. As always, he had proved quite useful.  
  
“Now, Hermione, I haven't been your Headmaster in some time. And, considering my current predicament, I think it would be more appropriate to call me Albus,” the painting told me.  
  
“That may take some getting used to, sir,” I said. “Old habits die hard.”  
  
He just smiled and nodded. “I understand, of course. Now, Minerva tells me that you have an interesting house-guest at the moment,” he chuckled. “How are you handling that?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, I met his eyes, “It's ... intolerable, sir.”  
  
He laughed, quite happily, which made me roll my eyes. “Yes, I imagine it is. You know, I always had high hopes for young Mr Malfoy, I'm so glad that he has finally stood up for what he believes, and not what his father does. I assume that the two of you spending a month together has been quite the ... experience.”   
  
There was a mischievous twinkle in the old coots eyes that made me wonder whether or not he was still capable of using legilimency in his current situation, and I knew that his words were as much honest as they were deviant when he winked at me.  
  
Narrowing my eyes to a glare, I raised a hand and pointed at him, trying hard to keep the humour out of my voice as I said, “Now listen here you barmy old codger --”  
  
My words were cut off by the reopening of the door and the entrance of Minerva McGonagall, closely followed by Remus Lupin. They looked at me in shock, having not known I was coming to the castle, but before either could speak, Hogwarts' former Headmaster did.  
  
“Oh, Minerva, thank Merlin you arrived when you did,” he said, laughter in his words. “I believe that Miss Granger here was about to -- how do the students put it? -- tear me a new one.” I couldn't help but smile at him as I shook my head.  
  
“Well,” McGonagall spoke, “I do believe I would have sold tickets to that, Albus. Being cheeky again, are we?”   
  
“Quite, quite,” he answered and then winked at me again before I turned to face McGonagall who was walking further into the room to sit behind her desk.  
  
There was a seat already present in front of it and she motioned me to it before conjuring up another for Remus to sit in and speaking again, “To what do we owe your visit, Miss Granger?”  
  
“To be honest, Professor, I needed a break from Malfoy and I'm pissed off with the lack of information I've been receiving on the Order's activities,” I answered bluntly and both of them looked surprised. But really, now that Dumbledore had gone quiet and the humour had faded, I was in no mood to beat around the bush.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence between the two and they shared a couple of foreboding looks before Remus tried to begin, “Hermione ... I ...”  
  
He trailed off, but I didn't need him to state what they thought in words, their actions were saying more than enough. “Oh,” I said softly and then took a deep breath, meeting each of their eyes stonily in turn before questioning, “Untrustworthy, or unstable?”  
  
Immediately, Remus went to deny my words. “Hermione, it's not that we think --”  
  
I cut him off with a raised hand and said firmly, “But you do, Remus.” Seeing that he wasn't being all that forthcoming, I turned to McGonagall instead, staring her straight in the eyes, a glare that she refused to back down from. “Now, I'd like to know which I apparently am, untrustworthy or unstable?”  
  
The Headmistress had her elbows on her desk and was resting her chin on her crossed fingers, still meeting my eye. After a long moment of intense study, she stated simply, “Unstable.”  
  
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Remus glare at her briefly, but ignored that and kept looking at McGonagall, nodding slightly. “Yes, I thought it would be that one.” I stood and walked back to look at Dumbledore's portrait again. He gave a tiny nod of his head, an act which gave me the strength I needed to say what had to be said.   
  
“I have been through an awful lot. I lost most of the people I loved, including the two most important men in my life, one my heart, the other my soul. I have killed in cold-blood, I have been a prisoner of Death Eaters, I have been tortured to within an inch of my sanity, I have systematically destroyed another human beings soul, and I have fought in battles so ferocious it is a miracle I am still breathing, so I can understand your hesitance.”  
  
Not once did I take my eyes of Dumbledore's portrait as I spoke, but he was just the support I needed, they were the two who had to hear what I was saying. “Yet I am alive, and, might I add, reasonably sane ... I survived, even when all those around me were falling. I am not fragile, I do not break easily and I think that in the least I have the right to know what my  _brothers_  are doing to stop the man who has my name at the top of his wanted list.”  
  
Finally, I turned back to them, my eyes daring either of them to deny my request. Remus looked to McGonagall, since she, as leader of the Order, was the one who would need to decide. The older witch met my eyes for a long moment and I had the unshakable feeling that I was being measured, so just as she had done with me, I met her gaze head on and held it.  
  
In the end, she relented, waving to the chair across from her and indicating that I should sit back down. I did and she began, “To be honest, there is not much that we can do at this point. We have re-established contacts with all our old supporters and they are keeping their ears to the ground. We've got in touch with those in the Ministry who may be approached by Lucius and set up procedures for them in that event. We have even got one willing to go undercover if he is talked to about supporting Malfoy.   
  
“The few who Kingsley was suspicious were on Malfoy's contact list at the Ministry have been secretly interrogated, their memories wiped afterwards,” she went on. “But they didn't really know anything all that helpful, they were mainly supportive of him in word, a few financially. They are now being watched very closely. All of the old locations are being monitored, and Fred has been undercover in Knockturn Alley for over a week now, scouting for anything that may happen there.”  
  
Remus continued for her, “Lucius' plans must be immaculate. He's worked very hard to keep himself safe and there's not much for us to go on at all. He definitely learned from Voldemort. If we were to look at this as if it were a chess game ... we have to wait for him to make the first move.”  
  
I shook my head. “That isn't good enough, because when he makes his move people will die and I'd really like to take him down without the blood of innocents staining his attempted reign. But ... if it's all we have ...” I trailed off, thinking furiously. “Okay. I want to be kept up to date with what's happening, you are to stop keeping me in the dark. Also, if there's any movement at all, I want to be involved ... both me and Draco.”  
  
“You aren't serious?!” Remus exclaimed, looking at me as if I'd gone mad.  
  
I met his eyes, “I'm dead serious, Remus. He has as much right as anyone to be involved in what's happening, it's his father that's doing these things. I don't care that none of you trust him, he's proved himself to me. And out of anyone in the Order, I think I'm the one that he had the most to make up to. But we'll argue further on this when the time comes.” I stood and nodded to them both, “Good day.”  
  
Walking past Dumbledore's portrait, I also gave him a nod of farewell and he nodded back, placing a touch to his forehead – the signal of a point scored in a formal duel. With that, I walked to the door and left the Headmistress's office, now a little shocked at myself and the stand I had just made.

  



	14. Coffee

The hour away from Draco did not help in the slightest, therefore that 'intolerable tension' still hung in the air between us for the six days after I'd gotten back from Hogwarts. I had been foolish to think that just an hour away from him would work.   
  
Being as it was, we both attempted to distance ourselves from each other. I mainly kept in my room, writing, while he was hobbling around the house, doing Merlin knows what, or staying out under the willow tree, working on his new hobby.  
  
He'd actually gotten rather good at carving things from wood. In fact, he'd managed to carve himself a walking stick and when he proudly displayed the finished product to me, even I was impressed. After all, he hadn't been carving long and he'd managed to make a nice, polished cane that, although rough, was helping him move a lot better than the crutches had been.   
  
The morning the heat came to a boil took me off guard, to say the least. I was in the kitchen, minding my own business, nursing a cup of coffee and staring blankly out the back window when he came in, leaning heavily on his good leg, something which I noticed immediately.  
  
“Are you alright?” I asked, concern furrowing my brow as I took in his limp, which was more pronounced than what I'd become accustomed to since his knee got to as good as it would.  
  
He winced as he walked to the bench and pulled out the coffee cup that had somehow become his since he'd arrived. “I slept wrong,” he stated grumpily, obviously not in the best of moods this morning.   
  
Though, as I'd come to learn, Draco Malfoy wasn't really a morning person. It was usually in the morning when he was back to the grouchy, snappish person I'd known in school. After a cup of coffee though, he generally became more civilized.   
  
And there it was, the reason I suddenly froze and turned towards him. Completely forgetting his need for caffeine, I had used up the last of the coffee and wouldn't be getting anymore until the trip to town the next day.  
  
When I faced him, I saw that he was looking into the coffee tin, a glare in his eyes, his jaw tightening. Slowly, his grip on the tin so tight that his knuckles were turning white, he turned to face me, glaring between my eyes and the warm mug in my hand. I stayed perfectly still, waiting for his reaction.  
  
He had no right to get angry, he wasn't the only one in the house who needed a strong cup of coffee of a morning, and anyway, I was the one who bought it every week. Being honest, neither of us were big morning people before coffee, so I knew immediately that this would come to blows.   
  
As usual, I was right.   
  
“You drank the last of the coffee,” he said through clenched teeth; not a question, but a carefully controlled statement.  
  
Glancing down at the little that was left in my cup, I shrugged, “Not quite.”  
  
He took a step forward, faltering slightly on his damaged knee. “Give me the cup, Granger,” he demanded, his voice still dangerously low.  
  
I took a step back, knowing that if it were necessary, I could outrun him. Shaking my head, I replied, “No.” I wanted my coffee, it was mine and I had a right to finish it.  
  
“Have a heart and give me the bloody cup, Granger!” he snapped, his voice finally rising. If looks could kill, he would have murdered me. But then again, if looks could kill, I would have slaughtered him long ago.  
  
“I do have a heart, Malfoy, but it's mine. Stop being a prat, I'll pick up an extra large tin when I go to the village tomorrow,” I growled back, now meeting his glare.   
  
He was moving closer again, but I was standing my ground. “I can't wait for tomorrow, Granger,” he ground out. “I want some bloody coffee and I want some now, so bloody well give me what is left of yours.”  
  
“I think you have a problem, Malfoy, you're addicted to caffeine. We may need to work on that,” I told him as sweetly as I could, quirking an eyebrow and smirking.   
  
He took a deep breath, more than likely in an attempt to calm himself, but kept glaring at me. “You think you're one to talk to me about addiction?” he questioned, his eyes narrowing.  
  
My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I looked up at him with barely contained rage at the comment. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Shall I not bring up the bottle of wine you drink every night?” he said, a smirk covering his pointed face as he got closer, knowing that he'd hit a nerve. “You're a bloody alcoholic, Granger.”  
  
Aghast, and refusing to admit to something that I'd never consciously acknowledged, I stared at him in horror, breathing deeply as I struggled to maintain the loose grasp I had on my anger. “I most certainly am not!”  
  
He was still smirking and that just served to infuriate me even more. “You're in denial, you are. I bet you couldn't go a week without your precious wine.”  
  
Narrowing my eyes, I took a step closer so that we were merely a foot apart. “And I bet you couldn't go a week without a bloody cup of coffee ... or without being an absolute arsehole!”  
  
“Thankfully,” he stated, still smirking, “my addiction isn't as serious as yours.”   
  
With reflexes I didn't know I had, I jarred back just as his hands were flicking out to grab my mug of coffee. Not even realizing what I was doing, I lifted the cup to my mouth and swallowed the rest, then looked at him defiantly, smirking at the shocked look on his face.  
  
Rapidly, his features changed into a stony glare and this time my reflexes weren't fast enough. He whipped his hands out, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me in so that I was flush against his body. Suddenly, it got a lot hotter in the kitchen, for me anyway. Draco looked as cool as ever, still glaring at me coldly.  
  
“Fine!” he shouted. “You want to play it that way!”  
  
And then his fingers tightened, making me wince a touch as they dug into my hips. It all was happening very quickly and I couldn't even comprehend it when his face lowered to mine.   
  
It was instant and shocking, and for a long moment I simply couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely even breathe. I just stood there while Draco Malfoy pressed his lips to mine, his hands firm and warm on my waist.   
  
A tongue slid across my lower lip and instinctively (or so I told myself), I opened my mouth. His tongue entered, meeting my own and it was as if he was trying to savour every drop of coffee in my mouth. But a moment before I completely melted into the kiss, I tore away from him, breathing heavily and lifted my arm in a reaction I didn't even think about.   
  
Draco had been expecting it, but that didn't actually prepare him for the sting as my open palm collided with his cheek. He grimaced and rubbed it for a moment before looking at my stunned and outraged expression.   
  
I raised my other hand, ready to redden the opposite cheek, but he quickly grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me closer, a proud smirk angering me even more as he spoke, "Don't even try that, you enjoyed it as much as I did."  
  
I ripped out of his grip and took a good few steps away from him, not even bothering to assist him when he wavered slightly on his feet, "How dare you?!" I raged. "Don't you  _ever_  touch me again, Malfoy!"   
  
With that outburst I turned sharply on my heel and began making my way for the back door, but his arrogant voice stopped me, "You weren't complaining at the time."  
  
The nerve of that man! I spun back around in a flash, my face red from anger and frustration, my breathing still heavy, and glared at the great prat before me.   
  
"The day I kiss you willingly, hell will freeze over!" I hit him with my parting comment and after a look that would have made other men wither, I turned again and walked out the back door, the wood slamming behind me.   
  
Outside, I was determined not to peak through the window to look at him, but I couldn’t stop myself and did anyway. He stood looking at the door with an unstoppable smirk on his face for a good few minutes until his entire face fell into a pensive and slightly concerned look.   
  
I knew exactly what he was thinking: he had just kissed Hermione 'Mudblood' Granger. And, putting aside his coffee addiction, he'd done it for no other reason than he'd felt like it.

  



	15. Village

If I had thought, however fleetingly, that after The Kiss (which is how I was referring to it now, appropriate capitalization and all), some of the heat in the house would die down, or that my attraction to the smug, blonde Slytherin would diminish, then I was terribly wrong.   
  
In fact, it only made matters worse. Much worse. For the whole day after that we avoided each other and the only words spoken at dinner that night before bed was, “Can you reach back and grab the salt off the counter?”  
  
The next morning, I awoke especially early from a fitful sleep. Oddly enough, even though I had not consumed an entire bottle of wine the previous night, partially because I just wanted to get away from Draco and straight to bed, the other reason being that I wanted to prove a point, that I was most certainly not addicted, it hadn't been nightmares that had kept me tossing and turning the whole night long. No, it had been the enigma that is Draco Malfoy instead.   
  
He baffled me. One moment I was so certain that I was looking at a completely different person to the one I had long ago despised, and the next he was back to his usual pompous prick of a self that I had been forced to put up with while I was at school.   
  
Then he had kissed me, going on the pretence that it was all because of the coffee, even though I'd seen the way he'd been looking at me the weeks before. I knew he was attracted to me, however unrealistic that seemed. Apparently, pureblood elitism became a moot point when you were a randy man alone with a woman for so long.  
  
Then there was me. I could not deny that I was attracted to him as well. I certainly wasn't falling for the arrogant arse, there were no fantasies of a grandeur romance running through my mind. My heart certainly wasn't yearning him, it seemed only my body was.   
  
But every time I felt compelled to simply push him into the wall and snog him until neither of us could breathe, I would sternly tell myself that it was Draco sodding Malfoy and I  _did not_  want him.  
  
I scoffed as I crawled out of my bed, reprimanding myself once again. Lying to my own mind was no good, I knew, but I was certainly going to test my will-power. Maybe if I told myself enough times, it would become true.   
  
I got ready for my day as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake him, hoping I could slip off into the village without seeing him. If I could manage that, I might just have to take my time and make it an extra long trip.  
  
I moved down the hallway and wandered straight through the living room, all my thoughts focused on my internal battle, into the kitchen. There, I picked up the two bags that used to be large enough to fit everything I bought on my trips to the village. However, since the arrival of Malfoy and the subsequent redoubling of my purchases, I'd had to charm them so that they could carry much more.  
  
Walking back into the living room, putting on my travelling coat, I was shocked to find a head of platinum blonde hair above the couch. I rounded the piece of furniture cautiously, to find him sitting on it, his chin resting on his fist as he stared into the dying embers of the fire in front of him, his face thoughtful.   
  
“Draco?” I said quietly, in much the same way one might speak to a frightened animal, or a suicidal man standing on top of a skyscraper.   
  
Slowly, he turned his eyes to me and took a deep breath, expelling it with the words, “Good morning.”  
  
I blinked, surprised at hearing the words from him for the first time. “Err ... good morning. What are you doing up so early?”  
  
He looked back at the fire, answering distractedly, letting me know that his mind was anywhere but on the conversation we were having, “Haven't slept.”   
  
I didn't know how to respond, shocked that after I had gone to bed last night he had stayed up and wondering what exactly was he bloody well thinking about. The Kiss, maybe? If it had kept me up most of the night, then maybe it had had the same effect on him.   
  
I shook my head, telling myself that it didn’t matter what he was thinking, that I did not want to know, then took a deep breath and began heading for the door, still determined to continue avoiding him.  
  
“Where are you going?” His voice was so sharp that it startled me and I paused, my hand on the door knob and turned back to face him.  
  
His eyes were suspicious and that annoyed me to no end. What did he think I was off to do? Find his father and swear my undying loyalty before handing the younger Malfoy over? Rolling my eyes at the thought, I answered, “It's Saturday, Malfoy. Where do I normally go of a Saturday morning?”  
  
Immediately the suspicion left his gaze, but he stood, confusing me, and walked into the hallway. Thinking I had just been rudely snubbed, I opened the door, huffing to myself while muttering rather unkind things about a certain blonde under my breath, and was walking out when I heard his uneven footsteps coming back.   
  
Turning, my eyebrows shot up when I saw he was in a coat also, walking towards me with the help of his cane and carrying the borrowed crutches. “I'll come with you,” he stated, his voice hard and his eyes refusing to meet mine.   
  
He brushed past me and out the door and it took it me a long moment to recover from my shock. “Perhaps you shouldn't,” I said, stammering a touch as I desperately tried to find a way out of his company. “I mean, your knee ... it's a long trip, I'd hate for you to damage it.”  
  
Stopping as he stepped off the front porch, he turned back to me, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were cold and his voice steely and determined as he spoke, “My knee is fine, in fact I think it will be good exercise for it. We can return the crutches and I'd like to see if there's somewhere I can get some clothing, if you don't mind. Transfigured stuff isn't as comfortable and I've been wearing it for long enough.”  
  
I glared at his back as he continued walking, then, stomping my foot in frustration, I powered after him. Due to the anger I was experiencing, I strode straight past him and kept going, full steam ahead, leaving him behind.   
  
His rough call of my name made me turn back, placing my hands on my hips and cocking an eyebrow at him as he struggled to catch up. “What, Malfoy? If your knee is fine then you should have no trouble at all keeping to my pace.”   
  
I realized I was smirking at the glare he shot my way while he hobbled towards me and briefly wondered when I had picked up that particular trait. It was just another reminder that I had been spending far too much time with the blonde who was currently shooting daggers at me from his eyes.  
  
He stormed up to me as fast as he could, trying to be menacing and stopped only a foot from me. “What the hell is your problem?” he growled.  
  
My eyes narrowed as I unconsciously moved closer, “My problem? I don't have a bloody problem, Malfoy!”  
  
“It sure doesn't seem that way. You avoided me all day yesterday and now you're back to the bossy know-it-all that used to curse me at school!” His voice was rising as his anger grew.  
  
“Why the hell do you think I've been avoiding you?! You kissed me, Malfoy! You went and ruined everything! It was all fine before you committed that stupid act,” I yelled back.  
  
He shook his head. “It wasn't fine and you damn well know it. Don't think I didn't see the way you have been looking at me, Granger ... the same way I've been looking at you. It was driving me crazy and I couldn't stop myself.”  
  
I took a few calming breaths before responding, but my voice was still louder than usual, “You could have stopped yourself, Malfoy. I was content to just ignore it, but you had to go and take things to the next level.”  
  
“It's not all my fault, you know,” he growled and then broke eye contact with me, looking towards his feet and shaking his head. “We can't go on like this, obviously we can't live together. We're going to end up either shagging or killing each other.”  
  
Disgruntled that he thought I would ever shag him, I snapped, “Well let us hope it's the latter!” then turned on my heel and began stomping away, vaguely aware that after a moment, he started following me.  
  
He was able to catch up a minute or so later when my anger began to fizzle and my pace reduced. Not another word was spoken as we walked the dirt path that led to the village. It was so quiet between us that I could almost feel the long-lost serenity the trail used to give me. The wind blew through the trees, the air was fresh, and I could hear the insects twittering as they went about their mornings.  
  
His last statement had made me a touch distraught however, and I couldn't keep focused on how peaceful the area around my home was. I felt that it was true, what he had said, and that scared the hell out of me.   
  
The past stood between us, our mutual annoyance for one another making it entirely possible that we'd kill each other before this entire mess was handled. But then, floating around us was the leaps and bounds we had made towards a rough civility since he'd arrived, and that damned 'intolerable tension' that thickened the air surrounding us.  
  
I didn't know if I could stand to stay in the same house as him for much longer, as it was obviously making us both crazy. It wasn't a situation I'd have ever thought myself in, torn between murdering Malfoy, or shagging the bastard. Neither were choices I was too fond of, and I knew that he wasn't either, so that left trying to dance around both options.  
  
Draco's voice brought me from my thoughts as we entered the village. “We're going to have to do something about this, Granger, before we both go mental.”  
  
I certainly was not about to agree with him, so I just kept walking, making my way to the high street where the Saturday market stalls were set up and happy villagers were going about their business. Old Mrs Ester gave me a warm smile, before handing over my usual bag of vegetables, always more packed than what I asked for as she was of the opinion that I needed fattening up.   
  
“And who is your handsome young man?” she asked, her Scottish burr making her voice rough, but giving it a pleasant ring.  
  
What she had said shook me a little. “Err ... this is an old ... friend of mine, Mrs Ester. Draco.” I could feel his smirk without seeing his face as he shook the elderly woman's hand, her words undoubtedly going straight to his big head.  
  
Before she got the chance to inquire further about Malfoy, I paid and thanked her, quickly moving away. Malfoy followed me wordlessly as I went about my usual routine, purchasing all that was needed. I could tell just by glancing at him that he was both tense and curious being around all the muggles that were all mingling together for the weekend markets.  
  
I enjoyed this, every Saturday, making my way through the stalls set up in the cobble street. It had a peacefulness to it that made me think of the days of old, when people went about their days in such a way, not bothering anyone, chatting with neighbours, buying and bartering amongst each other.   
  
The looks that many gave Draco made me think of my first couple of weeks in the village, staying in a room above the pub. These folks weren't used to strangers, most of them had been born in this very town and they knew everyone who lived there, therefore the sight of someone they'd never seen before walking through their market brought a lot of intrigued glances.  
  
Draco seemed to ignore the looks he was getting though, and was content to take in his surroundings as he carried a few packages for me and followed me around. We took his crutches back and I had to roll my eyes and nudge him into thanking the kindly matron before we left.   
  
Now loaded with new clothes and weekly supplies we left the village again, heading back along the track to the cottage, barely a word spoken between us. To say it was frustrating would be an understatement, but I just couldn't find any words.  
  
“Peaceful place,” Draco commented after quite some time, probably just as uncomfortable with the quiet as I was.  
  
I nodded and agreed, and once again, silence descended between us. I was getting agitated with it and finally couldn't put up with it any longer. Stamping my foot and growling, I halted in place and turned to him where he was at my side. “I can't handle this any longer.”  
  
Obviously, I didn't need to elaborate on what it was that was slowly driving me crazy, he understood. He turned to me, looking around our surroundings absently as he gathered his thoughts, and then nodded. “Neither can I. We're going to have to do something about it.”  
  
His eyes met mine and I could see the mischief there, and it absolutely enraged me. “I most certainly will not be sleeping with you, Draco Malfoy!”  
  
He chuckled, “It's not the most appealing idea to me either, Granger. So if you can think us out of this one, I'll be most grateful.”  
  
“Maybe ... maybe we should just forget that it ever happened. Forget that you kissed me, forget everything,” I said, breathing deeply afterwards because I knew it was a stupid idea destined to fail.   
  
I saw the doubt in his eyes as well, but he nodded anyway. “We can try that.” And then he began walking away again.   
  
Watching him go I couldn't help but shake my head. He agreed for the same reason I proposed the idea, because neither of us could think of anything better to do. We would give it a try though, even if it were foolish.   
  
He was right when he'd spoken earlier, his statement about ending up either killing or shagging each other. Funny thing was, I really did hope it was the former. One way or another, I was about to explode.

  



	16. Explosion

The entire situation was getting downright maddening by the night that it all exploded. The Order had little to nothing in regards to Lucius and his deviant scheming and all the waiting was driving both Draco and myself completely batty.   
  
That frustration built upon the now undeniable fact that I wanted to shag Malfoy, and the knowledge I had that although he wasn't keen on the idea either, he wanted it as well, was making things go well beyond unbearable.  
  
We sat in the living room together, as usual, him laying on the couch, reading one of the books from my collection, me in the armchair, flicking through a fiction novel. The light in the room came from the roaring fire that was also keeping the temperature nice and warm, staving off the cold that was settling into the night outside.   
  
My mind wouldn't even stay on reading though, as my thoughts, and my traitorous eyes, kept going to him. It was absurd, for me to be attracted to Malfoy and it was utterly preposterous that he wanted me as well. But there it was, in all its cold and frustrating truths. We were two sexually frustrated people who were lusting for each other.  
  
I turned my attention back to my book, but I didn't read a word. I was considering what my options would be if I did indeed kill him, for I briefly believed it would be better than shagging him. Really, I think I'd get off pretty easy. He was a known Death Eater after all, and I was a war hero that the people were rather fond of. Surely they'd be lenient if I pleaded temporary insanity, for that's exactly what it was.  
  
Against my will, I looked up again and cursed myself when I did. The firelight was bathing his pale skin; his grey eyes were shining in it as they flickered across the pages of the book in his strong, yet soft hands. His pointed features were shadowed, making him seem mysterious, and by Merlin did my body react. That was it, I'd had enough and my brain completely shut down as my desire took over.  
  
"Oh, sod it!" I cried so loudly that he looked up from his book, which was quickly pushed aside as I pounced, throwing my own book to the ground and crossing the room in an instant. "I can't stand it anymore," I mumbled and before he really had time to comprehend what was happening, my lips were on his, my hands were running over his chest and my legs were straddling his lap.   
  
He responded instantly, opening his mouth for my tongue as it ran across his lips to ask for entry and moaning in the back of his throat as I explored his warm mouth for a moment before engaging his tongue in a fierce duel. His hands went for my waist, pulling me as close as he possibly could and then beginning an exploration of his own.   
  
When I pulled away, both of us breathless, foreheads resting against each other, he smirked and kissed his way across my jaw, then up to my ear where he whispered, "I guess hell just froze over." And I know the git had intentionally breathed the words into my ear and revelled in the shudder that ran through my body.  
  
"Oh yes," I whispered back, then drew his head around so I could catch his lips again.   
  
To say he was surprised when my teeth nipped at them was an understatement, but pleasantly so I knew. He found himself being pushed back on the couch, my hands working at his buttons. I pulled back from the kiss and positioned us so he was on his back with me hovering above him.   
  
The seductive smile he gave me made my heart beat faster with anticipation as our eyes met, and I whispered seriously, "It's quite cold in hell right now."  
  
Draco growled and pulled my head back down to his. The kiss was loaded with desire, want, and need and as his hands travelled over every inch of me things just got more and more intense. Even without the fire, the temperature in the room would have been enough to melt snow.  
  
He tried to pull my jumper off, but I wasn't ready for that yet, I wasn't ready for him to see what the clothing hid, so I stopped him and the kiss broke. He met my eyes and seemed to understand, for he didn't press the matter, and instead just slipped his hands up and under the top.   
  
His fingers brushing along my bare skin was enough to set me on fire but when they ran over the silk of my bra, I nearly exploded. Merlin I had missed the touch of a man. With quick halting hand movements, he became clear on the rules: he was not to go above my breasts and he wasn't allowed to touch the left one at all.   
  
I wasn't ready for him to be undoubtedly aware of what my clothing hid just yet. He understood and I thanked him for that by taking his neck into my mouth and sucking on a pressure point that had him moaning.  
  
I guess it was one of those 'and one thing led to another' situations, because before my mind could catch up with my body, my long skirt was pushed up, my knickers were gone, his trousers were undone and we were consummating what we had both vowed would never happen.   
  
It was fast, it was rough and it left me gasping for air as my head dropped to Draco's sweat-soaked shoulder. It took a few full minutes before I could breathe properly again, and it was another long moment after that before my brain decided to reboot.  
  
When it did, I thought I may throw up.  _I just shagged Draco Malfoy._  That sentence kept running itself through my mind and I slipped off of him and down to the floor, leaning my back against the couch. Malfoy's hand moved itself to my shoulder and his finger began tracing a pattern through my jumper. I knew what he was doing, trying to keep me calm before I started hyperventilating.   
  
I really was sick to my stomach. My head was spinning, my skin was tingling and a feeling of dread was making me shiver, like a bucket of ice-water had just been tipped on my head. I was overwhelmed with an urge to jump into a boiling hot shower and wash away all traces of the act I'd just committed. Settling myself, I simply slapped his hand away from my shoulder.  
  
As I began nervously straightening my skirt, making sure it covered every inch that it could, my entire body trembling, and no longer in the good way, I heard Draco sigh behind me before he spoke, “Come on, Granger, it wasn't that bad.”  
  
Disbelievingly, I looked back at him, angry that he could still make light of such a situation. “How is it that you don't feel ... dirty because of what happened? That's how I feel, Malfoy, and I'm not the pureblood elitist here. You just fucked a mudblood!”  
  
“Don't say that word, Granger,” he snapped and then sat straight, zipping his pants back up. He moved so that he was behind me, his feet touching the ground on either side of me. He placed his hands on my shoulders firmly, so that even if I wanted to get away, I couldn't. “Look ... I tried to resist this as well, but really, with the two of us stuck in this place together, it was inevitable. But I do not regret it, I wanted it and I enjoyed it, so did you.”  
  
Just as I was opening my mouth to respond, Hedwig flew into the living room and landed on the back of my armchair, a letter tied around her ankle. Malfoy let me go, and I got up, trying to ignore the fact that my legs felt like jelly. When I reached the snowy white owl, I untied the letter and briefly read through it.  
  
 _Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy,  
  
We have received some intelligence and will be moving in a few hours by the time this letter reaches you. As you have expressed the interest in being part of any operations that we are undertaking, I am informing you. Please be at Headquarters as soon as possible, as time is of the essence._  
  
It was signed  _Minerva McGonagall_  and there was a P.S. at the end for Malfoy to read. He had been watching me curiously as I'd looked over and his gaze was still fixed on me as I walked over to him and handed him the piece of parchment. “Read the post script,” I instructed, and he did so.  
  
“The Headquarters of the Order are located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place? What --” he was about to inquire before I cut him off.  
  
“The place is under the Fidelius.” I flicked my wand a few times and had the both of us cleaned up, and then transfigured my skirt into tight, black track-pants.   
  
He snorted and stood, throwing the note into the fire, picking up his cane and pocketing his wand. “They trust me to know where it is? That's rather daft, if you ask me.”  
  
“They don't trust you,” I told him as I tied my hair back. “They trust me.”  
  
Before he could ask what exactly it was that I meant by that, I had grabbed his forearm and focused. With the feeling of being squeezed through a bottle, we appeared in a dark alley. It was just a short walk to Grimmauld and I led the way, Draco following behind me.   
  
He had tried once to keep talking to me about what had happened and I'd told him sharply that now really wasn't the time. I had seen the look on his face after I'd said those words and I knew without a doubt that he was going to make sure that the discussion was had, after we'd finished whatever business we now had with the Order. It wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to.  
  
Entering Grimmauld Place wasn't quite as painful as it had been a few weeks previous, especially since my mind was distracted with a million other things. I walked determinedly to the drawing room and when I reached the door I looked back at Draco. He didn't speak, just nodded, and I turned back to the door and opened it.  
  
There was silence in the room and I soon knew why, because only McGonagall and Remus were present. The two looked at us with a touch of curiosity, but said nothing as we entered the drawing room and moved towards the desk the two were standing by.   
  
Draco followed without question, standing close behind me, his back straight and his face stone, showing the two in the room that he would not be intimidated by either of them.  
  
The elder witch gave me a small, tired, tight smile as I approached the pair and questioned, “What have you found?”  
  
Her gaze hardened somewhat as she answered tersely, “We know the location of Blaise Zabini.”

  



	17. Capture

My heart sped up at McGonagall's pronouncement. Blaise Zabini had been in my year at Hogwarts and was, along with Draco, a wanted Death Eater. I knew very little of him as he had mainly kept quiet and to himself while we were at school. I could remember hearing that his mother had been a very beautiful woman whom had married many times, and during the climax of the war a rumour had gone around that said Blaise himself had murdered the woman. I didn't know if it were true or not, but he was a Death Eater and I wouldn't put much past them.   
  
I glanced back at Draco and met his eyes. There was a scowl on his face and his eyes had grown cold at hearing the name. Turning back to McGonagall I inquired, “Where?”   
  
“He's in Birmingham, though why we don't know,” she answered. “And he isn't alone. There are three others with him, all of whom have been identified as men from Mr Malfoy's list. At the moment, Seamus, Luna, Fred, Neville and Bill are watching him closely and we'll be informed of any movement.”  
  
“What's the plan?” I asked quickly, sharing another brief glance of eye contact with Draco. Even if the Order didn't want to move on Zabini, Malfoy and I did and would. It was a silent agreement made with our eyes and once done, I turned back to McGonagall to hear her answer.  
  
“We want to capture them, interrogate them ourselves and then we'll be sending the Ministry a gift,” she stated, looking between myself and Draco. “I take it the two of you still wish to be involved?” We both nodded. “Very well. You two and Remus will meet up with the team already there and take them.”  
  
Lupin looked between Draco and myself, then shook his head of what seemed to be errant thoughts before addressing us. “I'll tell the both of you what I told the team already in position: We want them alive, all of them. So no one is authorized to use lethal methods to bring them in.”   
  
His eyes hardened as he looked at Draco, intending the message to be for his benefit. Glancing back at Malfoy, I saw him visibly resisting the urge to roll his eyes.   
  
Nodding to himself, Remus held out two sets of magically modified ear-pieces that had been used often during the war. I took mine, immediately putting it in and explained a little when Draco hesitated, “They allow you to hear what everyone in the team is saying.”  
  
He took it and copied me, putting it in his ear as Remus went on. “Hermione, you'll be with Bill's team. You'll be taking Zabini himself, along with the man he's with, a Gerald Housen. Draco, you're with me, we're going for the other two who are currently in the bar.”  
  
“I want Zabini,” Draco stated suddenly and forcefully.  
  
Placing my hand on his upper arm to focus his attention on me, I told him, “This is the way we do things, Malfoy. You take orders and you follow them. You'll go with Remus.”  
  
My tone held no room for argument and after a long moment, in which I could see the internal battle in his eyes, he nodded. “Fine, let's get this done then.”  
  
Remus handed me a battered book and held out an old, stinking shoe to Draco. Before he activated the portkeys, he informed us, “Hermione, your codename is the same as it used to be. Mr Malfoy, yours is 'Ferret'.”  
  
I could not hold back the snicker at that, knowing it had to have been Fred's idea. I was able to see a moment of rage on Malfoy's face before he and Remus disappeared in a fall of colour. I turned back to McGonagall as she said, “Good luck, Miss Granger,” and gave her a nod before tapping my own portkey with my wand.  
  
Forms of magical travel were convenient, but uncomfortable and a portkey was no better than apparition or the Floo. I felt as if I was being squeezed through a bottle, but it was only moments before the sensation had ended and my feet hit solid ground. I swayed for a moment before a pair of hands captured my waist and I looked into the eyes of a smiling Neville Longbottom.  
  
Glancing around I found myself in a musty, dust-covered room. There was a moth-eaten bed against one wall that looked as if it were about to collapse in on itself, a doorway led to a disgustingly dirty bathroom where I could see rusty piping, and the glass on the single window in the room was so grimy that if I didn't know the time I wouldn't of been able to tell if it were night or day.   
  
Oddly enough, it reminded me of some of the run-down places Ron, Harry and I had stayed in early on during our hunt for the horcruxes, before we'd taken Grimmauld as a base.  
  
Besides myself and Neville, there were two others in the room: Luna Lovegood and Bill Weasley. They were around a circular table, made of rotting wood and both had looked up and offered quick greetings when I appeared. Making my way over, I asked Bill, “What do I need to know?”  
  
Running a hand over his scarred face and looking as if he'd rather be anywhere in the world than in this cheap motel room, he responded, “We're in a wizarding hostel, one of the more rugged places, as you can see. Zabini and one of the other blokes are in the room directly across from us. The other two are downstairs in the pub.”  
  
“What's the plan then?” I inquired.  
  
He shook his head and gave me a lopsided grin that made me think of Ron again. “We thought knocking might work.”  
  
Smiling a touch, I shook my head. “Let's get this over with then.” Everyone around the room nodded, so I tapped my ear-piece to make a connection. “Bookworm to Moony.” Remus' muffled response rang in my ear, so I went on, “We're ready to move.”  
  
“Affirmative, Bookworm, so are we. Race you lot back to Headquarters?” Lupin chuckled.  
  
A shiver ran down my spine as faded memories flashed through my head. This was how it used to be during those dark times of war. Whenever a situation was too serious and intense, we'd make light of it as much as possible. It helped to keep teams relaxed, even as their hearts beat three times faster than normal. Looking back, I also think it was the part of the reason we all didn't go completely insane.  
  
Bill was the one who answered, laughter in his voice, “You're on, Moony. Alpha team, out.”  
  
The line was cut and four wands were drawn. With practiced movements, we stealthily exited our room through a door that's hinges would have creaked if it weren't for Luna's foresight. It amazed me how we were all able to slip back into the position of 'hunter' so easily, even after years of relatively quiet lifestyles.  
  
Then, thinking about it, it shouldn't have shocked me. We had lived through a paranoid time where we had killed, captured, spied, and a myriad of other things that required us to be invisible, silent. It was now a part of who we were, just as much as we were creatures with magical powers. We would never be able to stop being something that had become second nature to us during months upon months in bloody trenches.  
  
Luna and I stood to one side of the door that was directly across the hall from our own, Neville on the other and Bill directly in front of it. After Neville pulled a small, black orb from his pocket, a Weasley twin’s custom made smoke-bomb, Bill counted down on his fingers from five. When his hand was in a fist, a silent reducto blew the door inwards. Within the blink of an eye, Neville had thrown the bomb and smoke was billowing into the hallway.  
  
I was the first to enter, immediately moving to the right, while Luna trailed in behind me, jumping to the left. A shout was heard and a deathly green bolt snapped towards where the door had once been. It was a heart stopping moment, but I was able to breathe again when both Neville and Bill came tumbling into the room, their wands in front of them.  
  
Four different incapacitation spells shot out in the direction the Kedavra had came from and a second later, a thump was heard. None of us paused however, for we knew there to be another person somewhere in the room. Neville muttered a charm and the smoke cleared instantly ... leaving an empty room.  
  
As one, all four of us turned towards the open door that led to the bathroom. I was closest to it, Bill just behind me and Neville across from us. Luna slipped over to the unconscious enemy we had got, her wand remaining trained on the motionless body. I glanced over at her, and that movement almost cost me my life.  
  
A tall man swung around into the doorway and a green bolt was heading my way. Without even thinking, I accio'd a chair in the room and it swung across the killing curses path, shattering into a thousand pieces, one of which split my cheek open, but effectively stopping the green bolt.   
  
I didn't even have to fire back, because the moment that the former Death Eater had shown himself, three other spells had hit him so hard that his feet lifted off the ground and he slammed into the wall behind him, sliding into a dirty tub.  
  
Neville moved into the bathroom quickly, making sure that there were no other surprises and that our enemy was sufficiently incapacitated. He nodded at Bill, and the eldest Weasley male tapped his ear-piece. “Beta team, this is Alpha team, we're done.”  
  
A soft crackling echoed in my ear as Remus responded, “Very well, Alpha team. We'll meet you back at Headquarters momentarily. Straight to the dungeons, Dog-bite.”  
  
“Aye, Moony,” Bill ended the connection and then nodded to the rest of us.   
  
Not needing to be told what to do, I made my way over to Luna. She held out the book I had arrived using and I briefly wondered when the hell she had bothered to pick it up. I tapped it with my wand, muttering, “ _Portus_ ,” and watched as it shook and glowed a bright blue.   
  
Looking over, I saw Neville, Bill and our other prisoner, Zabini, considering that the bloke at my feet wasn't him, swirl away in a fall of colour. Once they were gone, I turned back to Luna. She lifted our captives hand and places it on the book before touching it herself. Nodding to myself, I hit it with my wand again, and we were gone, only to come out the other end of the portkey trip in the dark, dank dungeons of Grimmauld Place.  
  
We'd often had to use the holding cells during the war, when we were lucky enough to come across prisoners, but we hadn't needed to build them. The Black's, like many old, wizarding families, already had dungeons underneath their homes. What they were used for back when the most noble house of Black were an upstanding pureblooded family, I didn't want to know.  
  
Neville and Bill took our prey, Housen, from us and dumped him in the cell they had just deposited Zabini in. That done, Neville stayed behind to keep watch on the two of them, while the rest of us made our way upstairs. McGonagall had been anxiously pacing the drawing room by the time we arrived. She looked relieved when we entered, even though she had been listening through her own ear-piece.  
  
The first thing she did though, was eye us all for injuries, immediately noticing the bleeding gash in my cheek. “Miss Granger ... are you alright?”   
  
“It'll be fine, Professor. I'll heal it myself, later,” I said, walking towards the back of the room and beginning to pace myself. Not that I'd ever admit it to him, but I was worried about Draco.  
  
I didn't have to wait long; the other team was barely a few minutes behind us and entered the drawing room, all of them in one piece. Seamus, Fred and Remus collapsed into chairs around the room, but Draco's eyes instantly tracked to me and before I was able to blink, he was across the room and standing in front of me. He didn't say anything, but I saw the relief in his eyes. He had been worried as well.  
  
His gaze cut to my bleeding cheek and he withdrew his wand. “I'll fix it up later, Draco, I'm fine,” I protested softly, so that no one else in the room could hear me.  
  
Ignoring me, he took my chin in his hand and turned my face so that he could heal the cut. I stopped resisting and his touch lightened, making it much more like a caress, causing me to shiver slightly.   
  
His wand went to work, and I winced at the sting of the cleansing charm he used. I knew he was knowledgeable of many healing spells, if only because he had learned most of them while I'd been treating his injuries.  
  
As he sealed my cut, the two of us oblivious to the numerous sets of eyes on us, I asked, “What happened?”  
  
Shrugging, he answered, “It wasn't that hard. Weasley had already re-conned the place, the kind of people there don't really give a damn about anything but themselves. It was kind of like Knockturn Alley, you can kill someone there and no one pays it any attention. It was quick, we managed to take them by surprise, stunned them both. No one else there even batted an eyelid.” He paused, sealing my wound. “What the hell did this?”  
  
“A chair,” I answered vaguely, not meeting his eyes.  
  
His grip on my chin tightened again and he turned my face towards his. Unwillingly, my eyes met his intense grey gaze. After a long moment of serious eye contact, his touch softened and his hand ran up to rest on my recently healed cheek. “Tell me what happened.”  
  
With a sigh, I answered. “A piece of a chair hit me; it exploded when I used it to stop a killing curse Zabini sent at me.”  
  
I watched his jaw clench and barely veiled fury boil behind his eyes and felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that his anger wasn't, in any way, directed at me. The hand resting on my face was still soft in its touch and I resisted the sudden urge to reach up and snog him to the point that he forgot why he was pissed off. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then dropped his hand, nodded and turned back towards the group.  
  
They had all been curiously quiet as Draco and I had interacted, and I noticed that most of them were desperately trying to look anywhere but at the two of us. I guess his touch had been overly intimate, and everyone had probably realized that. Briefly, I wondered how they would all take the fact that Malfoy and I were a little bit closer than anyone would have thought possible.  
  
Before I had the chance to dwell on their reactions, McGonagall was speaking, “Well ... right, everyone, since tomorrow is Sunday, I ask that all of you present now that don't have somewhere else to be volunteer for guard duty. We'll interrogate our prisoners in the morning, after that I’ll want detailed reports from each of you. Sort out tonight amongst yourselves, I must be returning to Hogwarts.”  
  
That said, the Headmistress of Hogwarts gave us all one final relieved look, then strode to the door and left. Remus glanced around at the group of tired soldiers left and then stated, “I'm going to go speak to Neville, I'm sure he'll take the first shift, I'll take the second. The rest of you, go get some rest. I think you all remember the way to your rooms.” He started for the door, but paused as he reached it and turned back, “Mr Malfoy, I'm sure Hermione will find you a place to sleep.”  
  
Everyone began filing from the room after Remus, and Malfoy and I followed quietly. Not a word was spoken between the two of us as we ascended the stairs, the silence only broken by a few mumbled goodnights to the others. When we reached the floor that I had always stayed on, I directed Draco to the room just down the hall from my own.  
  
“This was Ron's room,” I said quietly, opening the door. “The bathroom is just next door. Goodnight.”  
  
I was proud of the fact that I didn't look back until I reached my own door. But, once there, I simply could not stop myself. I wasn't at all surprised to find him still standing in his doorway, watching me go. After a moment of eye contact, I walked in, closed the door firmly behind me, and released the breath I didn't even know I'd been holding.

  



	18. Breakfast

It felt as if I had barely closed my eyes when I was shaking awake, panting and sweating, the remnants of a chilling nightmare still replaying through my mind. It wasn't as bad as some I had had, but it was enough to spook me.   
  
I groaned when I realized where I was and buried my head further into the pillow, barely registering the extra weight that shifted the bed. Then, strong arms were around me and warm lips were pressing against my temple, the scent I had come to associate with Draco, musk and salt-water, was permeating my senses.  
  
“What are you doing here?” I asked groggily, still half-asleep. Without even realizing it, I snuggled in closer to him, enjoying the feel of his chest pressed against my back and his warm breath on my face. “I'm not shagging you here, Draco Malfoy, anyone could walk in.”  
  
He didn't laugh out loud, but I felt his chest rumble with a chuckle, then he kissed my temple again. “Don't worry, Granger, I just want to sleep. I wasn't all that comfortable in Weasley's bed ... and I thought you might like some company.” He paused for a moment, before inquiring quietly, “Are you alright?”  
  
I just nodded, knowing he was talking about the nightmare. “I'm fine, it wasn't as bad as it could have been,” I informed him. We were both quiet for a long time, and even though I wanted to just drift back to sleep in his arms, I had to ask, “What are we doing, Draco?”  
  
“Sleeping, Love,” he whispered. His endearment shocked me even though I knew he hadn't called me it on purpose, but his voice was soothing me to the point that I couldn't care less, I just wanted to fall asleep, safe with him surrounding me. “We'll figure it out later, now we sleep.”  
  
And I did, drifting into a remarkably peaceful slumber only moments after he had stopped speaking. If I wasn't in the calmest rest I had had in years, then I would have had to think about how Malfoy and I had reached this particular point, how he could put me so at ease by simply being present, what had given him the urge to come to my room and hold me in his arms. Little things like that, things that I couldn't really comprehend. As it was, however, I didn't really want to dwell on those questions. I was content to let it be, for I was sleeping peacefully.  
  
When I opened my eyes next, morning light was streaming in through the floor to ceiling window in my Grimmauld Place bedroom and soft hazel eyes were in my line of vision. It had been Remus shaking me awake that had brought me out of such a pleasant rest and now he was watching me curiously. And instantly, I knew why. I could still feel Draco's arms around me, and his slow, equal breathing told me he was still asleep.  
  
“I can't say I didn't expect this,” Remus said quietly, moving almost silently to sit in a chair close to my bed. “The two of you locked away Merlin only knows where. And then last night ... the way he touched your cheek ...”  
  
He trailed off, looking out of the window and shaking his head. I spoke before he could continue, my voice still sleep-addled, “If you're about to lecture me, Remus, don't waste your breath.”  
  
Remus met my eyes again and held them for a long moment. “Do you love him?”  
  
That question made me balk, and my brow furrowed as I thought about it. After a minute or so, I shook my head slightly, mindful not to wake the man behind me. “No ... I mean, I don't think so ...” I paused, chewing my lip and then looked to Remus again. “I'm not in love with him, Remus, no. But I do care for him ... more than I ever thought I would.”  
  
Smiling lightly, he leaned forward so that his elbows were on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Very well, so you aren't in love with him ... yet.” Before I could protest that I had no intention of falling in love with Malfoy at all, Remus went on, “Okay then, does he make you happy?”  
  
“Are you kidding?” I laughed quietly, still careful not to wake Draco. “He drives me insane, Remus. I couldn't even begin to tell you how many times I've wanted to kill the prat since he arrived on my doorstep, let alone since we met. I glare at him more than I smile at him, and we can barely say more than ten words to each other without snapping.” I had to stop and think for a minute, the smile falling from my face. “But ... I feel safe with him and I just had the best nights sleep that I've had since ... since long before my world came crashing down.”  
  
He inspected my face for a while, long enough for me to worry that I had sneezed or something in my sleep and there was a rather unattractive feature hanging from my nose and then an odd look of understanding crossed through his eyes and he nodded.   
  
“That's good enough. You're a grown woman, Hermione, even if I tend to forget that fact sometimes. And if Draco Malfoy makes you ... feel better, then ... you'll get no lecture from me, Hermione, as long as he treats you well and you're ... okay.”  
  
“I will be, Remus,” I commented and for the first time in a long time, I believed the words I'd spoken about my well-being.  
  
The lycan nodded, gave me a brief smile, and said, “Very well. I actually came up here to tell you that I've made breakfast. Most of the house are already downstairs, so the two of you may want to join us before they eat it all, then we'll visit our guests and see if they have stewed for long enough to tell us what they know.”  
  
Remus left and since I wasn't quite ready to leave the amazing comfort I was in, I rolled over in Draco's arms, burying my face in his chest and closing my eyes again. Just when I was about to fall back into slumber, his hold on me tightened, and he spoke, his voice rough with sleep, “I drive you insane?”  
  
Laughing tiredly, I answered, “You do. And before you go getting a big head about it, I'm shooting you down by saying not in the good way.”  
  
With a chuckle, he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him and stretching slightly. I lay my head on his shoulder, watching as his stomach muscles clenched and then relaxed. He yawned loudly before saying, “We have to get up.”  
  
Yes,” I agreed, but groaned at the loss of contact when he slid out from underneath me and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.   
  
Picking up his cane to help him stand, he got up and began stretching. I watched him, almost absently, my mind trying to figure out exactly what he was to me now. We weren't dating or anything of the sort, so I could easily rule out boyfriend. And although we had only slept together once, I knew it wouldn't be the last time.   
  
I was aware of what he felt like now, I knew the flavour of his tongue and the feel of it against mine, I knew how warm his skin was and how his fingers could make me shiver as they explored my body. But mostly, I knew that I could sleep in peace as long as he was with me. There was no way I could end this thing, or whatever it was, between us now.  
  
So I guess that made him, for lack of a better term, my lover. I could also put him in the companion category, for he kept me company, but he wasn't exactly, nor did I think he ever would be, a friend. So it was settled, if not a bit daunting. Draco Malfoy was now my lover and my companion.   
  
He slipped on the shirt that he'd obviously left beside the bed the night before and then turned back to me, offering a hand to help me out of bed. I took it and got up, shaking the kinks out of my body as he spoke, “Do you think they'll let me be the one to interrogate Zabini?”  
  
“By yourself? No,” I answered honestly. “But they'll more than likely allow you to be present if you want.”  
  
After a moment of looking thoughtful, he nodded. “Alright then, I'll meet you downstairs after I clean up a bit. Kiss me goodbye?”   
  
He was giving me that damned smirk and although I was tempted, I tried my best to ignore it and instead returned a smirk of own as I responded, “Not with your morning-breath, I won't.”  
  
His eyebrows rose and he gave a light laugh, before shaking his head and making his way for the door. “Have it your way, Granger. You'll regret it though. I look damned sexy after a shower, and you know it.”  
  
I had to roll my eyes at his arrogance as he left the room. Slipping into the en-suite connected to my room, I went about preparing myself for the day. I had forgotten how good a hot shower felt after a peaceful nights sleep, how refreshing and energizing it could be. I felt alive as I left the room and made my way downstairs, but that quickly dissipated when I entered the gloomy atmosphere of the kitchen.  
  
It seemed that no one was in the mood to be at Grimmauld preparing to deal with our latest edition of enemies. I understood the feeling, of course. We'd thought that this was all behind us, and then Lucius bloody Malfoy had to go and screw things up for us. We should have been enjoying the peace we had fought so hard for, but instead we were wasting away our Sundays fighting once more.  
  
Draco had gotten down before me and was now sitting at one end of the kitchen table, visibly holding back a sneer. Down the other end, was most of everyone else, except Bill, whom I assumed was down in the dungeons, as well as Remus and Luna, who both seemed quite content to be sitting in between the suspicious group and Malfoy.   
  
I was pleased that Draco was stopping himself from openly saying or doing anything that may make the congregation of Order members angrier. As it was, they were all glaring at him.  
  
Every eye had turned to me when I walked in and with a light shrug of my shoulders, I walked to the table and sat down next to Malfoy, thanking Remus quietly as he handed me a plate of toast and eggs. Just as I was about to eat, Draco growled loudly, “Why don't you all just say it?”  
  
I looked up and noticed he was addressing the group down the end of the table. After using a moment to take in their looks of barely disguised hatred, I turned my attention back to Draco and inquired, “Say what?”  
  
He glanced at me, but his eyes shot back to the others in the room after only a heartbeat, and he was now openly glaring at them, his eyes challenging. “Exactly what they want to say. That I'm untrustworthy scum and you're crazy.”  
  
Smiling, I went back to my breakfast after saying, “They've known I was crazy for quite some time and none of them have ever been afraid to say it.”  
  
My ire only rose when the Irish burr of Seamus Finnegan asked, anger in his tone, “Are you shagging him, Hermione?”  
  
Of course, they had all seen our intimate touches the night before. Still, I didn't have to answer to these people and I'd be damned if I was going to be spoken to that way. “I don't believe that's any of your business, Seamus and if you dare ask me such a question again, I'll make sure it's a very long time before you can be accused of shagging someone.”  
  
The sandy-haired wizard promptly shut up, paling slightly, but he still had the nerve to glare at me. Just as I was about to snap something more, Remus spoke softly, “Why don't you and I stay out of this one, Hermione? Let them and Draco handle it amongst themselves.”  
  
“'Draco'?!” Fred scoffed and my head snapped to him, but he was looking at Remus in disbelief, “You call the great ferret 'Draco'?!”  
  
Remus' back straightened and his features hardened as he met Fred's eyes. “Yes, I do.” He paused, meeting every set of eyes on him, not including Malfoy and myself. “I consider Hermione like a daughter to me and I know you all care for her deeply as well.” He pointed in Draco's direction, “This young man saved her life and no matter what he has said and done in the past, he has my respect and appreciation for that act ... if only because Hermione is still with us today.”  
  
No one dared to say a word against that passionate little speech of Remus' and I found myself overwhelmed with appreciation for the werewolf I had first met in my third year at Hogwarts. There was silence at the table for a long time and most of the gentlemen down the end of the table had the good grace to look ashamed of themselves, though none would openly apologize to Draco.  
  
That was how Minerva McGonagall found the scene in the kitchen. She raised an eyebrow at Remus to inquire about the oddly tense silence, but he just shook his head, indicating that now wasn't the time to discuss it. So she continued as if nothing were out of the ordinary.  
  
“Good morning everyone.” There were a few mumbled responses, causing the elderly witch to frown. “Well then, best we get to business. Hermione, Remus and I will be interrogating Mr Zabini first, as it seems that he is the senior member amongst them. If we don't get anything from him, it's unlikely the others will know something. Any of you who wish to leave, may do so now. You most likely aren't needed, but if you'd like to stay to find out what they know, by all means, do.”  
  
She immediately began walking towards the staircase that led from the kitchen to the dungeons, and Remus and I both got up to follow. Draco also stood, knocking his chair back slightly and calling after McGonagall, “Professor?” When she turned to face him, he continued, “I request your permission to be present during the interrogation.”  
  
Her eyebrows rose and she was silent for a moment, the entire room seeming to wait with bated breath for her response. Nodding, she spoke, “I assume you'll just be for show?”  
  
Draco looked hesitant, then took a step closer, shaking his head. “Quite the opposite, actually. I propose that Hermione and myself be the two primary interrogators. She knows your ways, your regulations and I ... I know his.”  
  
Again, McGonagall fell silent, her lips in such a thin line that they were almost invisible, and her brow thoughtful. Finally, after a long minute, she looked to Remus. Without even having to be asked the question, he answered, “I certainly see the logic in it. If Draco is there, it may rile Zabini enough that he'll be willing to talk ... or at least snap something by mistake.”  
  
They seemed to have no question on my presence, and I knew why. During the war, I had been trained by Mad-Eye himself in the ways of interrogation and was often his second if we had a prisoner. McGonagall ended up agreeing with Remus, and Draco and I followed the two down to the dungeons, where we would be getting information out of Blaise Zabini, whether he was willing to give it up or not.


	19. Zabini

Draco didn't seem to question the number of cells that were hidden beneath Grimmauld, but then, he was a Malfoy after all and they were from a long line of purebloods, Malfoy Manor probably had it's own set of dungeons.   
  
When we reached Bill, who had been sitting outside one of the cells, glaring at the occupant inside of it, he stood and walked towards us. McGonagall gave him a simple, quiet instruction, and we continued moving through the underground labyrinth as Bill made his way to the cell, his wand drawn.  
  
Behind us, I could hear the scrape of steel on stone as Bill opened one of the cell doors, but none of us looked back. As we rounded a corner and reached the end, I did see Draco's face become curious. Unlike the bars that, if the correct spell was used, allowed entrance to the cells, we were now at two plain white doors. McGonagall opened the one on the right, and the four of us entered a small square room, that had three white walls and one clear screen, with another door beside it.  
  
In front of the glass screen, which was in fact a one-way mirror, the dark outlines of a room could be seen until McGonagall flicked her wand. Bright lights flooded the other room, showing glaring white walls, and directly in the centre, a metallic chair. These rooms had been my idea, a long time ago, a place to interrogate prisoners. I had gotten the idea from the interrogation rooms I had seen cops use on telly when I was little, therefore the design was much the same.  
  
Draco quirked an eyebrow at me, but I just smiled in response and waited. I didn't have to for long, because only a few moments later, the door to the other room opened and Bill came in dragging Blaise Zabini with him. He practically threw the sneering Slytherin onto the chair, and then waved his wand. Blaise soon became aware that he could not move any part of his body save his head.  
  
Bill quickly exited and a moment later, walked through the door we had just came, giving McGonagall a nod and taking a seat on one of the chairs in the room that hadn't been used in many a year, as was proved by the loud creak it gave while adjusting to his weight. He folded his arms and continued to glare through the glass at Zabini, even if our prisoner couldn't see him.   
  
The Headmistress walked over to where Draco and I were standing. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a vial of clear liquid and handed it to me. Malfoy didn't need to ask, he knew what it was and I pocketed it.   
  
My eyes met my lovers for a moment, before we both nodded and he followed me to the door inside, that led to the interrogation room. I took a deep breath and opened it, walking in, my appearance confident.   
  
Zabini looked at me in disgust, but just as he was about to hurl an insult my way Draco followed me into the room and his expression turned to one of utter outrage. He didn't say a word, just glared murderously at the both of us, before spitting in our direction.   
  
I scowled at the swab of saliva on the floor in front of me and shook my head, muttering, “It's good to see you too, Blaise.”  
  
He didn't hear me, as he was far too busy still glaring at Draco. “I knew you were a traitorous prick! Too fucking weak!” As he was swearing at Malfoy, we moved a few steps closer to him, not that that deterred him. “I'll see your head on a fucking pike for this, you bastard! You'll die, along with your mudblood bitch.”  
  
I barely saw Draco move, but I heard the crack as the back of his hand slammed across his former dorm-mates face. “You dare to call her that again, and it'll be your head on a pike, Zabini.”   
  
His show of violence shocked me, but I didn't let it show outwardly, remembering Mad-Eye's first rule, you and your partner are on the same side, you know exactly what each other will do and you don't give a damn, or at least you keep that appearance.  
  
Draco looked back at me and I nodded. His hands flashed out, roughly grabbing hold of Zabini's hair and reefing his head back and then gripping his jaw tightly, so hard that I was sure his fingers were going to bruise the other man's tanned skin. He pulled, and Zabini's mouth opened against his will. I stepped forward quickly, pulling the vial from my pocket and ripping the stopper out, then tipped a good amount down the other Slytherin's throat.   
  
The moment that was done, Draco let go and the two of us took a few steps back, waiting for it to kick in. It didn't take long, especially since I'd used so much veritaserum that there was a chance his brain would fry. “Fuck,” Zabini growled.  
  
All business, I inquired, “What is your name?”  
  
I could see him trying to resist, as they all did, but eventually the potency of the potion won out and he slurred an answer, “Blaise Alexander Zabini.”  
  
One of the tricks in getting information from a prisoner was knowing how to word your questions, so I took a brief moment to think before asking my next one. “Who are you currently taking orders from?”  
  
Again, Blaise struggled but the answer was ripped from his mouth against his will. “Master Malfoy.”  
  
“Lucius?” It may have made no sense to ask which Malfoy, but as one of them was in the room with me, I felt it necessary. At least this way there could be no doubts, and none of the more suspicious members of the Order could make wild accusations.  
  
The answer was almost shouted as Blaise attempted to resist. “Yes.”  
  
Glancing in the direction of the mirror, I didn't even have to see the people past it to know that one of their doubts about Draco had just been destroyed. Turning my attention back to Blaise, I inquired, “What were you doing in Birmingham?”  
  
“On orders,” he answered and then stopped for a moment, keeping up with his futile attempt to block the potion before spitting out the rest of the answer. “We were sent ... sent to the Central Library ... to collect ... information.”  
  
“Information on what?” Draco snapped, glaring at the other man.  
  
“I ... I can't say!” Blaise responded and Draco's gaze snapped to me.  
  
I raised an eyebrow in shock. There was no way that the potion was already wearing off, therefore he really couldn't say what he had been looking for in the Birmingham Central Library. My curiosity was instantly roused, but there was no time to inquire about that further, I had to move on.  
  
“Where is Lucius Malfoy?” I asked, knowing that he wouldn't be able to tell me that either, but having to ask.  
  
Blaise shook his head. “I can't say,” he answered and his tone was almost defeated, showing that he was no longer fighting the potion.   
  
“What are Malfoy's plans? Where will he attack?” I inquired quickly.  
  
“I don't know, Master Malfoy doesn't share that information,” he told us and I saw Draco's scowl at having his father referred to that way.  
  
He was able to shake off his distaste quickly enough though, and ask, “When are you due back?”  
  
“In one week,” Blaise answered, and I saw his eyes were beginning to clear.  
  
Then he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge snow from his hair, his defiant face slowly returning and I knew the interrogation was over, anything he told us from now on would be untrustworthy. It only took a minute for him to begin glaring at the two of us again. “Fuck you both,” he hissed.  
  
Draco just matched his glare, raised his wand and stunned him. A second later, the door opened and Bill was levitating his unconscious body from the room. Malfoy and I shared a long look that was only broken when McGonagall and Remus entered the room.   
  
The Headmistress looked rather ruffled by what she had just witnessed and she simply shook her head, meeting both of our eyes before speaking, “I will call in the Order, set up a meeting. He didn't know much, so it seems we have a great deal to discuss.”  
  
I nodded and she began walking through the same door Bill had just left from. After a moment, and a nod to say well done to the both of us, Remus followed. The moment we were alone, Draco's shoulders slumped.   
  
“What is it?” I asked him quietly.  
  
Shaking his head, Draco shrugged. “It's nothing, I just thought he'd know more. We still have next to nothing to go on.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Don't count us out just yet, we'll figure it out, we just need time to think.” Then I studied his face for a moment, noticing that he wouldn't meet my eyes. “What's really wrong, Draco?” With that question, he actually looked at me and I saw the touch of pain in his eyes. “Tell me,” I implored, needing to know what was wrong so that I could try and help him.  
  
Sighing, he said, “He could have been my best friend.” On noticing my confused expression, he went on, “I've never ... I mean, I don't know what it's like to have a real friend. Crabbe and Goyle ... body men, idiots ... Pansy was a whore ... they all clung to me because they thought my father was important ... that one day I'd be important like him and they could hitch a ride on my tailcoats.   
  
”But Blaise ... he never treated me that way. He didn't just assume that I was someone special because of what my father was. In his eyes, I didn't deserve special treatment, because I hadn't earned it. He was always honest with me ... if I did something worthy of his praise, I'd get it ... if I fucked up, he'd let me know.”   
  
He paused, a look of disgust crossing his face before he went on. “I hate him. I despise what he is ... probably because it's exactly what I could have been, had I not ... if I hadn't made the choices I did. Every time I hear his name, I can't control my anger. Before, when we walked in and he called you a ... that word, I couldn't stop myself from hitting him. Something I should have done to myself a long time ago, probably. ”  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, meeting my eyes again and finishing, “I was just thinking that if things had been different, in another world, he could have been my best friend. As it is ... he hates me and I despise him.”  
  
I didn't know what to say. He had never really been this open with me before. We'd briefly talked about his past, but even then he'd been hesitant and he really hadn't wanted to discuss it. Now, here he was, telling me of what may very well have been a passing dream of his, of a different world where he could be the man he really is and have a friend for it.  
  
“I ... I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't ...” I shook my head, knowing my words were utterly inadequate. Dropping my eyes, I bit my lip and thought for a long moment, then looked up sadly to meet his grey gaze. “I wish I could --”  
  
He cut me off with a small, wistful smile and took a few steps closer, so that he could place his hands around my waist. “I know you do. I know you wish you could fill that void for me. But you aren't really my friend, Love, we both know that, we both accept that. It doesn't matter. Can we just ... forget this?”  
  
I knew without a doubt that I could most certainly not forget what he had just told me, but for his benefit, knowing that it was what he needed to hear, I nodded. “Okay.”   
  
Then he did something that startled me, he kissed me. Only it wasn't infused with the passion and desire that our previous kisses had been. It was slow, almost tender. When he pulled away I was left feeling slightly light-headed. He just gave me a reassuring smile and walked out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


	20. Theoretical

The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Draco, sat around the drawing room going over the information received from Blaise Zabini. The other three prisoners we had were also interrogated, but they knew even less than my former classmate.   
  
Kingsley was raging about the veritaserum, which had been made by Professor Slughorn. “He must be completely incompetent. Zabini was fooling us the whole time! He must've known what he was looking for, there's no way he couldn't of.”  
  
My mind caught on that, as it had during the interrogation itself. Zabini could not tell us what he was looking for. Kingsley was wrong, however. I knew that the potion was working and that's what really bugged me. I had had a few hours to think about it, but I simply couldn't come up with an explanation. Still, that potion was working.  
  
“The potion was working,” Malfoy snapped at Kingsley from beside me, echoing my thoughts.   
  
Kingsley turned his glare towards him. “You have no right to speak in this meeting, you aren't a member of the Order and I damn well think that Headmistress McGonagall was insane to let you be a part of the interrogation. What did you do, Malfoy? Pass information to him through legilimency?”  
  
Just as Draco was about to resort harshly, I interrupted, “Stop it, the both of you! We are not here to argue, we're here to figure out exactly what it is that Lucius Malfoy is planning. We don't have time for pathetic quibbles.”   
  
I took a deep breath, calming myself, trying not to focus on Kingsley's Mad-Eye tendencies ... my thoughts of Kingsley faded, and I focused on the one name, Mad-Eye.   
  
Freezing, I allowed the long gone Auror to linger in my mind for a while. He had taught me a lot before his death, especially about interrogation. As arguments about what was going on continued around me, I focused on all my memories and lessons with Moody, going through them in my mind, trying to find what I was missing.  
  
And I realized what it was. “Focus on the wording,” I mumbled to myself, repeating words he had long ago told me.   
  
“What did you say?” Draco asked loudly from beside me, obviously still pissed off with Kingsley's accusations.   
  
At once, everyone stopped speaking and looked to me. After a quick glance around, I shrugged and said, “Something Mad-Eye taught me, focus on the wording. When a prisoner is under veritaserum all the words of their answers are where they're supposed to be. Nothing is phrased by mistake.”  
  
At least two voices asked, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” and I figured it was Seamus and Kingsley.  
  
I rolled my eyes, thinking that Kingsley should know better, seeing that he had once been an Auror. Somewhere along the way, he'd obviously forgotten Mad-Eye's lessons, even if he had picked up the paranoia. “Zabini never said that he  _wouldn't_  say, he said that he  _could not,_  while under veritaserum. Meaning, that he really could not say what he was looking for.”  
  
“He had to have known,” Fred argued, but I was barely listening, I was looking to Remus as the both of us put the pieces together.   
  
Standing, he took a few steps towards me, looking at me with utter disbelief. “It couldn't be.”  
  
“We have to consider it,” I responded, my brow furrowed.  
  
“Is it even possible?” he questioned.  
  
Shrugging, I shook my head and answered to the best of my knowledge. “Theoretically, of course it is. But I've never heard of it being done. I assume there would be a few modifications --”  
  
“Stop!” Draco shouted and glared at the both of us. “Would you two mind telling us what the bloody hell you're raving about?”  
  
Remus whistled to himself as the theory ran through his mind, motioning for me to explain, so I did. “Lucius put a fidelius charm on the knowledge of what Blaise was looking for.”  
  
“I thought that the fidelius was used to hide places,” Neville stated, confusion marring his scarred face.  
  
I shook my head. “Technically, the fidelius is magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. There's nothing that specifies the secret must be a location, though that's how it's most commonly used. If Lucius put a fidelius on the information of what he wanted Blaise and his other goons to find at the library, making himself the secret keeper, then when we interrogated Zabini, he actually  _couldn't_  tell us what he was looking for.”  
  
“It seems a bit extreme,” I heard Susan comment quietly.  
  
Draco shot a look at her, “There is nothing my father would not do to protect his precious skin,” he told her, his tone revolted. “He'd take any measures, go to any extremes.”  
  
“Mr Malfoy,” McGonagall finally spoke and Draco turned his attention to her. “Assuming this is what you're father has done, would he trust someone else enough to be his secret keeper ... or would he name himself?”  
  
Malfoy gave a bitter laugh and then scowled. “My father trusts no one. If that is what he did, then he'd use himself. Though, I didn't think he would have the power to perform something as complex as the fidelius.”  
  
McGonagall looked downright disappointed as she shook her head. “Then we are no closer than we were before capturing his followers. Since we have nothing else to go on, no better theory, then we must assume that this is what he has done.”  
  
Remus fell back into his seat. “Lucius is certainly taking desperate means to protect himself. The only way we'd have any idea of what he wanted now was if he were to tell us himself, and we can most certainly rule that out. Another dead end.”  
  
Everyone was silent for a long while, and then, “Not necessarily.” Surprisingly, as she was usually quiet during meetings, it was Molly who had spoken. “What of the library they were at?”  
  
All eyes turned to me when McGonagall asked, “What do we know about the Birmingham Central Library?” I had to resist the urge to glare at them. Why did they automatically think that because it was a library, I knew all about it? I did, but still, the assumption was annoying.  
  
“It's one of the muggles largest libraries in Europe. It has a massive wizarding section, of course. I spent a bit of time there while we were looking for the horcruxes,” I informed the group.  
  
“Is there anything there, anything at all that might give us some indication of what he is planning?” the Headmistress questioned.  
  
I thought back. At the time, I had been so busy searching for anything at all on the horcruxes and the Founders that I hadn't really had time to look at anything else, even though I was tempted. Shrugging, I began, “There's quite a few ancient texts there, a lot on the Founders. Other than that ... I'm sorry, I have no idea.”  
  
There was a moment of silence before it was broken by Luna, “Why not just have someone go there and ask around? I'm sure there's a librarian of some sort, surely they'd know something. And if they don't then it was worth a try.”  
  
“I'll go,” I immediately volunteered. “I think the curator of the wizarding side may remember me, he was quite helpful when I was there.”  
  
But McGonagall was already shaking her head. “No. I want you and Mr Malfoy out of sight for a while.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off, “You will both be informed if we discover anything, and included in any operations we may run, but the two of you are on the top of Lucius' wanted list, and I don't want to take any chances. Mr Longbottom and Miss Bones can go, if they don't mind.”  
  
Neither of them did, so that was another thing settled, even if I did have to resist the urge to pout and announce my displeasure at the Headmistress' decision. Remus was the one who moved the meeting forward by posing the question, “And what of our guests?”  
  
Kingsley answered, “I'll take them straight to the Ministry with me this evening, and I'll be sure to cover the how's of their capture. No one will ask questions.”  
  
Draco snorted and when every eye shot to him, he explained, “No one on your end, maybe. But my father is still going to know that they are missing and they were caught while on a mission for him.”  
  
“Yes, but he won't know what we have learned from them,” Remus commented.  
  
Shaking his head, Draco shot back, “You think that matters to him? Look at the measures he's gone to to make sure that no one can find him, or even know what he's up to. The moment a few of his men go missing, he's going to change his plans, destroying any chance we have of finding out what the hell is going on, and he's going to know that something is up on our side of things.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Kingsley snapped, still glaring at Draco suspiciously.  
  
“Contacts in the Ministry ring a bell to anyone? He didn't just pick random people to be his eyes and ears in the Ministry, it was strategic,” Draco explained forcefully, obviously angry at what he saw to be the stupidity of the Order. “If it had been an Auror operation that captured Zabini and those other three wankers, my father would have known about it before they moved. He's going to know it wasn't a Ministry raid.”  
  
Shaking his head, Fred asked, “Why should we care about what he does and doesn't know?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and I actually had to stop from doing that same action myself, now that I saw where he was going with his tirade. “Because we have the upper hand if he doesn't know we've reformed,” I answered before Draco could speak.  
  
The prat gave me a satisfied smirk, his way of saying he was pleased I was able to pick up on that, but when he saw that the majority of people in the room were still confused, he scowled. “How the bloody hell did you people manage to defeat the Dark Lord?” he asked rhetorically, then shook his head. “Just like you guys know that the Death Eaters existed, and still do, they know that you guys are around.   
  
”My father isn't stupid, he's well aware that it wasn't the Ministry that took down the Dark Lord and so many of his followers, he knows that the Order were the key players in that wankers downfall. If he figures out, which he more than likely will, that you lot are back in action, then we've lost the element of surprise. As of this moment, my father is unaware that  _anyone_  knows what he's planning, or even that he's been busy making plans. Don't go blowing the one advantage that we have over him.”  
  
There was silence in the room as everyone, myself included, stared at Draco. He was glaring at no one in particular, and the pale skin of his face was tinged pink with the passion he had exuded in his little speech. McGonagall was the first that dared to break the uneasy quiet.   
  
“What do you propose we do, Mr Malfoy?” she questioned, her tone saying that she wasn't simply going to go on his word because of who he was and who we were facing, but she would accept whatever he had thought of if it was plausible and if no one else was able to come with anything better.  
  
“Send them back,” he said as if it was the simplest thing, shrugging lightly. Cries of outrage resonated through the room from some of the Order members.  
  
It was Kingsley's voice that was the loudest, however. “Out of the question!” he practically roared. “We will be taking them to the Ministry where they will stand trial and be sent to Azkaban! The same place you'd be if it were up to me.”  
  
“Wait,” Remus interrupted, his voice quiet, but commanding; the same tone he used with his students. “Draco has made a valid suggestion.” When he was sure he had everyone's attention, he went on, “If we send them back, memories modified, of course, then Lucius is none the wiser of our reformation, nor our knowledge.” He turned to McGonagall, “I think we should do it, Headmistress.”  
  
“We can't trust him!” Kingsley shouted, pointing at Draco, his face chiselled in rage. “He is a Death Eater! And a Malfoy, to boot. It's his father we're up against, we can't take his word on this. How do we know that he hasn't already planted some information with Zabini or one of the others? How can we know that he isn't sending off everything we say to his father?”  
  
All eyes turned to McGonagall, as ultimately, it was her decision. She sighed and walked around the back of the desk, and had she been any other woman, I would have described the way she sat down as 'collapsing' into the chair. As it was, she pulled it off with a sense of grace that only she could possess. She was silent and thoughtful for a long moment, her eyes on the desk but seeming far away and I wondered if she ever, in her mind, asked Dumbledore what he would do in her position.  
  
After a long few minutes of silence, she looked up and met my eyes. “Miss Granger, you are, for lack of a better description, our Draco Malfoy expert at the moment. Do you agree with his plan? Do you trust his word?”  
  
I was shocked at the questions to say the least and I opened my mouth to respond in the affirmative, before my mind second guessed itself. “A moment, Headmistress?” I inquired, and she nodded. I removed my wand from my pocket and flicked it appropriately, until a cone of silence shimmered into existence around Draco and I. “She poses a valid question,” I said to him hurriedly. “Can I trust your word?”  
  
His eyes widened in surprise and then melted into a glare, his anger definitely directed at me this time. “After everything ... after all I've told you, after all we've done together, you still don't trust me, do you?”  
  
I sighed, shaking my head. “I told you the day I gave your wand back, Draco, I may never trust you completely and utterly.” Just as he was about to snap a retort, I cut him off with a raised hand. “Don't say anything just yet. Hear me out.   
  
”You can't expect, after everything, that I just take your word on something. You taunted me mercilessly, you made my life, and that of my friends, a living hell. You were a Death Eater, in Merlin's name! For so long you were a bad guy, Draco. I can't simply put all that behind me. I trust you with my life, yes, without a doubt. But I need you to state, right now, with your word, that you aren't trying to fuck the Order over.”  
  
He was still glaring at me, but I was able to see that my words had hurt him, even though he was covering it with anger. He answered me through clenched teeth, “You've got my word, Granger. I hope it's worth it.” And with that, he pulled his wand and flicked it, dispersing the cone of silence and storming from the room.  
  
My eyes closed of their own free will and I took a deep, calming breath, knowing that the entire Order was watching me. When I opened my eyes again, I swung them around to meet McGonagall's and nodded.   
  
“Obliviate them, send them back. In fact, I'll go do that now if you'd like, Headmistress,” I offered, if only so I didn't have to go and face Malfoy's wrath immediately.  
  
She shook her head. “No, Miss Granger. Miss Lovegood is perfectly capable of performing memory charms. I want you and Mr Malfoy to return to wherever it is you've been, your home. And like I said before, I want the two of you to keep a low profile. I won't take any chances with your lives. We'll inform you of anything we come up with.”  
  
Just like that, I was dismissed. Containing a sigh, I stood and walked to the door. The moment I closed it behind me, I almost collapsed against it, trying to reign in the force of all I was feeling.   
  
I didn't understand why exactly I was so upset about the possibility that I had insulted Malfoy, but I was. Now I had to find him and take him home and I knew once we were there, we would have an awful lot worth of backed up discussions we'd need to talk about.

  



	21. Memories

I climbed the stairs of the Black Manor slowly, so many thoughts swirling through my mind that I could barely think straight. Draco and I had a lot to talk about and at that very moment I would have cut off my right hand to postpone the conversation.   
  
I didn't know where in the house he was, but I knew he wouldn't have left, so I checked every room. When I reached Ron's, I seriously doubted he'd be in there, but opened the door anyway and took a moment to look around.  
  
A fond smile formed on my lips at the sight of the faded orange bed duvet, a Chudley Cannons blanket that Harry had given him on the Christmas before his death. I needed a moment, not to put off my talk with Malfoy, even if that were an added bonus, but also to remember the fire-haired young man who had had such an impact on my life.  
  
Taking slow steps, I made my way to his bed and sat down on the edge of it, absently running a hand over the duvet. Ron and I had never been as close, friend-wise, as Harry and I had been. In fact, it was a wonder we were friends at all, we fought more than Draco and I had during our school days. Those arguments had never had the pure disgust and borderline hatred that mine and Malfoy's had, but they were so frequent that we'd often been compared to an old married couple.   
  
Just after he died, I would've done anything for one more fight with him, though I probably would have stopped half-way through and kissed the infuriating git, just as he'd done, once, during a time that seemed so far away but in reality, was just a few years ago.  
  
I'm not sure when exactly I started feeling that way with Ron but it had come to blows one night while we were staying at Grimmauld, during our search for the horcruxes. I don't remember what triggered the argument, but lines such as “inconsiderate prat” and “snooty wench” had been thrown back and forth for a very heated ten minutes before Ron had cried, “Fuck this!” and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me towards him.  
  
Before I'd even had the chance to be outraged over his horrid language he was kissing me. For a moment, I was absolutely stunned, even though everyone had thought it was a long time in coming, but it only took a few seconds before I wrapped my hands around his neck and kissed him back.  
  
We were falling hard and fast for each other, snogging every chance we got, and our fights now had one purpose, and that wasn't to piss each other off, it was so we could make up. It was the beginning of something that could have been beautiful, that would have been forever, if only we'd gotten the chance.   
  
He'd been killed two months later when one of the many traps Voldemort had around his soul-pieces caught him. Harry and I had tried as best we could to keep him alive long enough for Madame Pomfrey to arrive at Grimmauld, where we'd apparated him to, but it wasn't enough.   
  
With one of his hands in mine, the other in Harry's, he had died right in front of us. I can still remember the powerful sting of loss when the grip he had on my hand began to loosen and his amazing blue eyes started to fade.  
  
I felt as if my own life was ending, my heart being squeezed so tightly that I was just waiting for it to collapse in on itself. The pain was indescribable and I didn't think I'd ever recover from it, not enough to get up each morning anyway. It was a long and painful mourning period, but it only helped to fuel Harry and I on our quest to destroy Voldemort.  
  
Sitting on his bed in Grimmauld, I was so lost in memories of that time that I didn't register the presence of another person, standing in the doorway. With a choked back sob, I returned to reality and reached up to wipe away a few stray tears that had managed to find their way down my face.   
  
“Was it Weasley?” a familiar voice said, startling me and my head shot to Draco, seeing him leaning against the door frame, his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes staring at me, unblinking.  
  
Shaking my head, I asked, confused, “What?”  
  
He took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind him before looking around the room, buying himself time to sort out his words. “You weren't a virgin, and you aren't the kind of girl to give something like that up to a random bloke, so I was just wondering ... was it Weasley?”  
  
I took a moment to think over his words in disbelief. What was he doing bringing this up when we already had enough to talk about? Shaking my head of the errant thoughts, I said, “We very well may be on the brink of another wizarding war and you want to know who my first lover was?”  
  
Chuckling, he dropped his eyes to his feet for a minute before glancing up at me. “I know I should be thinking about a thousand other things right now, the least of which are your trust issues and what the hell is happening between us, but I'm curious.”   
  
Before I could respond to his comment on what we really needed to discuss, he continued, a little more seriously, “You can't blame a guy for wondering, Granger. So ... was it Weasley?”  
  
Meeting his eyes, I could tell that this was something he really needed to know. I had no idea why that piece of information was important to him, but I'd tell him if it was what he wanted to hear. “No,” I said, shaking my head softly, my thoughts already beginning to drift back. “It wasn't Ron.”  
  
Memories flashed in front of my eyes; two best friends, a storm, a fire, a bottle of firewhiskey. It was the night that would decide the fate of the world, though neither Harry nor I knew that as we sat in front of the warm fire in the suite Professor McGonagall had gladly given us, talking about what we would do with our lives after the war for the first time either of us could remember.   
  
I can remember the moment that things had subtly changed. Harry had made a joke about how if Voldemort managed to take him down the Daily Prophet would end up referring to him as the Boy-Who-Lived-Only-To-Die-A-Virgin. We had laughed at the comment but then our eyes had met over the bottle of alcohol we had been sharing.   
  
We knew the end was coming, we knew we'd have to face our enemies soon and we may very well die. Therefore, that night, right there in front of the fire, we had given each other something. It was odd and more than a little awkward, as I'd never really thought of Harry that way, nor had he thought of me like that, but the firewhiskey helped and after a few minutes of fumbling and bumbling we were able to laugh which did wonders in making the mood a lot more relaxed.   
  
All I'll say about it, as it's a memory that is incredibly precious to me, is that if Harry had lived, his caring and attentive ways would have made some woman very happy.  
  
Draco Malfoy wasn't a stupid man; in fact he was rather intelligent, and he was able to put two and two together as he stood in the middle of the old bedroom looking at me after I'd just informed him that Ron had not been the first man I was with. He scowled and spoke one simple word, “Potter.”  
  
Looking at him, I was disappointed that at that moment, I couldn't tell what he was feeling, or what he thought about that. Frowning at the fact, I nodded. “Yes, it was Harry ... the night he died.”  
  
His scowl immediately faded and once more he was looking at his feet, but I heard his mumbled words. “I would have put my money on Weasley, it seemed that was the direction you two were heading towards. What changed? When did Potter become the man for you?”  
  
At the last question, he was able to meet my eyes again, even though he kept his head ducked. Shaking my head, I answered as best I could. “He wasn't. Ron and I ...” I trailed off for a moment, my hand once again absently running over the bedspread. “That was the direction we were going in, but we never ... we never had the time to reach that point.”   
  
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and wiped away an errant tear. “With Harry it wasn't ... romantic feelings. It ... neither of us wanted to die virgins.” I cracked a small smile at that, but it faded quickly with where my thoughts led me next. “He was my best friend, and at the time there was no one else I would have trusted with that as much as him.”  
  
With a familiar ache in my chest, I looked up to see Draco staring at me again. He nodded slightly and took a deep breath, releasing it as he crossed to the bed and sat down beside me. Neither of us spoke for a long time, and his face was pensive before he broke the quiet, “Where do you think we would be if he had lived?”  
  
His voice was so quiet and solemn that I put a few moments of thought into his question before I answered, “Honestly? I have no bloody idea.”  
  
“You'd have been happier,” he whispered. “You never would have ran. You'd be with him, he'd be the one you shared your body with. Bloody hell, you'd probably be his wife by now.”  
  
I shook my head and cleared my throat before interrupting his dazed words. “We didn't love each other like that. Harry and I ... it was purely platonic, he was my best friend.”  
  
“Exactly, he was your best friend,” Draco said before I could continue. “Who else would the two of you end up with when your fairytale pairings had both been killed in the war? There would have been no one else that either of you would dare give your heart to if he had lived, no one else who could understand who you both were and what you'd experienced.”  
  
He fell silent but I didn't break it for a long moment, thinking over all he had said. I doubted what he believed, therefore I didn't focus on it, asking another question, “And what about you, Draco? Where would you be now if Harry Potter had lived?”  
  
“I'd be dead,” he stated simply, turning his grey eyes to mine for the first time since he'd sat down. “I never would have even thought of going to you for help, because Potter would have been there, and he would have let me bleed out and then sent my body to the Ministry wrapped in tinsel. I would have let Lucius' goons kill me, because I had no other choice.”   
  
Chuckling bitterly after a quick moments thought, he asked, “How ironic is that? I'd of been dead if he had lived, and, in a way, I'm only alive because he died. And he was the one who deserved to live.”  
  
Shaking my head, I whispered, “You both did.”  
  
“Perhaps,” he mused, taking my hand in his and lifting it so he could brush his lips over my knuckles. “But if it were a choice between him and me, he should have been the one ... if only because he would have made you happy and I can't do that.”  
  
With tears in my eyes, I gripped his hand as tightly as I could and told him fiercely, “But don't you see, Draco? In your own way, you do make me happy. Did you not notice how peacefully I slept in your arms?”   
  
I paused, my eyes and tone pleading with him to understand the impact he'd had on my life since he arrived on my doorstep bleeding to death. I continued, “For the first time since ... since  _it_  happened, I actually believe that I'm going to be alright, because you're with me.”  
  
My tears had started to fall at some point while I was talking, the emotional beating I'd endured taking its toll and he reached up with the hand that wasn't clasped in mine and gently wiped them from my cheek, his eyes not once leaving mine.   
  
Then, his voice seeming a touch hoarse, he inquired, “Does that mean you don't want whatever this is, between us, to end?”  
  
I shook my head. “No, I don't. I have no idea what's happening between us, but I most certainly don't want it to end.”  
  
“Good,” he whispered, but then his eyes grew a touch harder. “But you still don't trust me. You can, you know. I'd never ... I hate him, I want to see him fail and get his arse locked back in Azkaban and you ... well really, when it comes to you versus my father, you win hands down, Granger. You can trust me, Love. I need you to trust me.”  
  
Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, I couldn't help but believe him. I knew him well enough to know that everything he was saying was the truth. “Kiss me,” I instructed, so quietly that the words were little more than a breath.  
  
Leaning in, he did as he was told. His lips were firm and warm against my own; his hand slid up to gently stroke the side of my face. His tongue snaked out, swiping my lower lip and I invited him inside, allowing him to deepen the kiss. It was both tender and passionate all at the same time and I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't have been able to kiss me like that if he had just lied to me.  
  
Pulling away, I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes for a minute or so, before opening them again and meeting his gaze close-up. “I trust you.”  
  
His eyes involuntarily closed and a smile bloomed on his lips. “Thank Merlin,” he whispered and kissed me again quickly. Then his smile fell and he became deadly serious. “Potter may have understood who you were, Granger, but I'm the one who understands who you are now. You know that, don't you?”  
  
“Do you?” I questioned quietly, letting him see the pain in my eyes that past experiences had put there. “Do you really understand?”  
  
“Yes,” he stated quietly. “I do. We're two of a kind, Granger. Runaways ... but at least we've managed to find a place where we can rest, where we can stop running and face what we've been through. At least we've managed to find each other. Come what may, we've got each other.”  
  
I was very nearly rendered breathless at his words and he leaned in once more, kissing me long and hard before pulling back and smiling slightly. He moved away from me and stood, then used the grip he had on my hand to lift me to my feet. Letting go, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his chest.  
  
“Let's go home, Granger,” he said and I allowed him to lead me from Ron's old room.   
  
With one last brief glance back, my gaze resting on the Chudley Cannon's duvet, I closed the door behind us, feeling like it was symbolic in some way, as if I was closing it on one painful chapter of my life and preparing to move forward with the next.

  



	22. Interlude

He went about his nightly routine; after washing the dishes by hand, he checked to be sure that hangover potion was available for the next morning, then made sure the doors were firmly closed and locked, even if the woman who owned the house didn't believe it necessary.   
  
He made certain that the fire was thoroughly extinguished and flipped off the electric lights in the kitchen and living room before proceeding down the hall and into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and changed into his nightclothes.   
  
The last few nights a light in the main bedroom had still been on by the time he was ready for bed, creeping out from underneath the door and giving a slight glow to the hallway that had been mostly darkened when he'd turned off all the other lights.   
  
With a slight sigh, he made his way to the door and pushed it open, expecting to see her hunched over her desk, her fingers furiously hammering at the keys of the typewriter she used to tell her stories.   
  
Instead, she was lying on the bed, the lamp on the table beside it still lit, her hair fanned out around her face, surrounded in scraps of parchment and slips of paper, most of it covered in words printed from her typewriter or written in her small, elegant handwriting. Her eyes were closed, but he knew from the furrow in her forehead that the sleep she was in wasn't peaceful.   
  
It hurt him to see her like this and he moved a few, silent paces closer to get a better look, a deep frown crossing his face at the sight of her puffy eyes and drawn face. Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed and, being careful not to wake her, knowing how much she needed even a restless sleep, he began picking up the papers from around her, his eyes flicking over each one as he wondered what it was this night that had made her cry herself to sleep.   
  
After reading over lines such as;  _‘It was the beginning of something that could have been beautiful, that would have been forever, if only we'd gotten the chance,_ ' and,  _'He'd been killed two months later ...'_  as well as,  _'“Yes, it was Harry ... the night he died,_ ”' he stopped reading.   
  
Making a neat pile of paper and parchment in his hand, he stood slowly and walked over to her desk, placing them beside her muggle writing machine.   
  
Just from the few words he'd managed to read, he knew what she was writing about at the moment, what it was that was leaving her in such a mess. And he also knew what was to come, what she would put herself through getting these memories of hers onto paper before they drove her mad.   
  
It would most certainly not be easy for her and at times he couldn't understand why in Merlin's name she would do that, make herself relive the most difficult times of her life, and what she wrote of now was definitely a difficult time for her. Her recovery, as he called it, and all that came with it, had not been easy. But he knew that it was a sort of therapy that she needed.   
  
From his position in front of her desk, he turned slightly, so that he could study her subtly shaking body in the lamp-light, thinking to himself, silently pondering the strength and depth of the woman he lived with.   
  
Since she'd started her new book, it was a common occurrence for her to be spending unbelievable amounts of time awake as she worked, locked in the bedroom, recording her memories in the form of a story. She was usually still awake by the time he was ready for bed, therefore he knew she must have been utterly exhausted to have fallen asleep.   
  
He wished he could help her more. His presence did calm her somewhat, allowed her to take moments where she didn't have to focus on the past and the pain that came with those memories, but the emotional scars she had, he could not reach, he could not help her heal. It was something she had to do herself, even though he believed she'd be living with at least some of the damage for the rest of her life.   
  
She didn't know that he'd been discretely reading over what she was currently writing; he knew she didn't really want him reading it until it was finished but he'd needed to know what she was reliving so he could silently support her while she suffered through the process.   
  
He didn't think she'd really mind all that much. After all, she'd let him read the first book before it was published, but he thought she was hiding this one because it was so much more personal. Where the other had been a tale of war, bravery and friendship, this was one of sex, depression and loss.  
  
He should have known that this particular point would be the next that she would explore in this way. After she had written a first-hand account of what it was like living during a dark war, a time he remembered all too well, that focused on people she loved and lost and the battle for success, this would be the next point in her life that was worthy of putting into words, and necessary to relieve from her shoulders.   
  
Only, he wished she wouldn't do it. The people loved her works, trusted her words and stories, enjoyed her style, but they didn't see what she went through to make it possible for them to read the books.   
  
They didn't see the bags under her eyes, or the pastiness of her skin. They weren't aware of the late nights, or the times, like this, when she would cry herself to sleep after the memories became too much. They weren't there to witness how hard she pushed herself, the smiles she forced even when the pain and sadness was just behind her eyes. They appreciated the works, but they would never guess how difficult the process was.  
  
Normally, while she wasn't writing, she was better than she had been. The wounds were still there, but they no longer bled. He liked to think that his presence had something to do with that. He helped her heal, just as she did him. He knew her well enough to know when she needed his strength, and she seemed to know just when he needed something as simple as a soft touch to the arm. The company they shared kept them standing.   
  
But that was during the days when it was easy to keep such thoughts from ones mind. These were the days when she simply could not, the days she wrote what she had experienced, reopened those wounds so she could seal them once and for all. It was times such as these that he felt utterly useless.  
  
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back to glance down at the stack of papers he'd just deposited. He knew what was to come and it probably wouldn't be any easier for her. Even with how strong he knew her to be, this was something that could take the fight out of her, and he just hoped she'd come through this project of hers ready to put it all behind her.  
  
Turning his attention away from the desk, he quietly walked to the bed. Being careful not to wake her, he pulled the duvet and sheets back, then slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her neck, lifting her a touch so he could move her back on the bed and lay her head on the pillow. He cursed himself when her eyes began to flutter, but was determined not to let her get out of the bed, he'd make her rest even if he had to force a sleeping draught down her throat.   
  
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice thick, groggy and no doubt laced with residual emotion.   
  
He removed his arms from her body and reached down, pulling the blankets up to cover her. “It's late, go back to sleep,” he whispered in response.  
  
“No,” she immediately protested, moving to crawl out of the bed, only to be stopped by his firm hands on her shoulders. “I still have some things I need to finish.”  
  
“You can do them in the morning,” he stated, sitting down on the bed and fondly brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Right now you really need some rest, you're exhausted.”  
  
“I'm fine,” she growled, but stopped struggling against his hold. Then her whole body seemed to deflate and to him, she looked utterly miserable. “I just want it to be over and done with,” she said, so quietly that he had trouble hearing her.  
  
His heart broke for her, knowing that she was barely holding herself together. When the first stray tear slid down her cheek, he reached out and pulled her against him. She was ready for a long overdue breakdown and it came.   
  
Her silent tears gradually turned into sobs, so he gathered her in his arms and readjusted their positions, so that his back was against the headboard and she was crying into his chest. They lay that way for an indeterminate amount of time before the sounds coming from her began to fade and, looking down, he found that she had once again cried herself to sleep.   
  
Carefully, he reached over and flicked the lamp off, then gently kissed her forehead. Not willing to move anymore than that, for fear he'd wake her, he rested his chin on the top of her head and continued to hold her as he too fell asleep.

  



	23. Library

I couldn't believe what I was doing, walking through the stacks in the muggle section of the Birmingham Library, disobeying what one could call an order. McGonagall had told Draco and I to stay out of sight, yet here we were, about to enter one of the largest wizarding libraries in the world.   
  
Glancing back at Draco, I carefully concealed a smile. He was in disguise, as even without the threat of Lucius he was still a wanted criminal. The disguise itself was my tiny bit of vengeance for him talking me into this trip in the first place. This morning when I'd changed his appearance, his reaction had made me truly giggle. I seriously hadn't laughed that hard in a very long time.  
  
His face was as round as a young Neville Longbottom's, his hair fiery Weasley red, shaggy and shoulder-length, and as my final touch, I converted his eyes from that sharp grey to the beautiful emerald green my best friend had inherited from his mother.   
  
Draco had walked into the bathroom and literally roared in anger, striding back out and shooting daggers at me. I had completely cracked up and I had to admit, it felt really good to laugh so heartily.  
  
Walking through the library, I knew he was still glaring at me, and it made me want to burst out laughing all over again. If he hadn't convinced me into ignoring McGonagall's request and visiting the library, then there would have been no need for the disguise, so really, it was his own fault.   
  
That very morning we'd received a short note from the Headmistress, informing us that Susan and Neville had come up with nothing after their visit. I was disappointed that we had hit another dead end, but hadn't even entertained the notion of going to the library myself. After all, I trusted Susan and Neville.   
  
Draco had other ideas however. He didn't trust them, and even though that held no stock with me, he had made a very convincing argument, saying that I should have been the one to go in the first place. “You know libraries, Granger,” he had rattled. “You know how to find something, even when you don't have all the facts. And you've been to the place before, you know the curator.”  
  
“I don't even know if he still works there, Draco, it was a few years ago now,” I'd retaliated, though my resistance against the idea was wavering.  
  
“Only one way to find out though, isn't there?” he'd questioned smugly and it had taken about another thirty seconds to have me on board, even if it didn't entirely please me.  
  
Reaching a darkly lit section of the library, I took a quick look around and once I saw there were no muggles in sight, withdrew my wand, tapping certain books. Without a sound, the entire shelf began to slide across and Draco and I were able to slip through the gap it left and into the wizarding section of the Birmingham Library.   
  
There were a number of people in the entrance hall and I couldn't help feeling self-conscious when a few of them appeared to recognize me, their eyes widening and following my every move.   
  
Keeping focused, I made my way straight past the front desk and down a short side hall, pleased to see a familiar name on the door to the curator's office. It was only a few seconds after I knocked that the door opened and Draco and I walked inside.  
  
Godfrey Grahams had been running the Birmingham Wizards Library for the better part of half a century and he had been quite helpful to me during the hunt.   
  
Knowing who I was, and more importantly, who my best friend was, he had asked few questions when I'd inquired about any information on the horcruxes, items considered taboo in our world. He was knowledgeable about the Founders, which was very useful, and he'd never told a soul what it was I had been doing in a dark corner of his library.  
  
I'd became fond of the man during the time I'd spent in his company as he assisted me in whatever I needed, to the point where I'd call him a friend. I can still clearly remember many long discussions with him on certain books and theories when I needed a break.  
  
He was short and a touch on the plump side, with little hair on his head and a friendly, jovial smile on his face, not at all changed from the last time I'd seen him. His surprise at seeing me again was displayed clearly on his face, his eyebrows shooting upwards and his mouth opening slightly in shock, only to be replaced by a warm smile a moment later when he rounded the desk and took my hand.  
  
“Miss Granger! What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted me happily, his soft hand shaking mine firmly. “Why, never in a million years did I think I'd see you again. Though I think that was the general opinion of most of the wizarding world.”  
  
Returning his smile, I said, “It's good to see you too, Mr Grahams. Allow me to introduce an associate of mine,” I said, motioning to Draco and releasing the older mans hand. “Mr Black.”  
  
Draco took a step forward, showing no hesitation at the use of his mother’s maiden name, and bowed smoothly, making me suddenly remember his aristocratic upbringing. “It's an honour, Mr Grahams,” he said, his voice silky and polite.  
  
“Thank you, young man,” Grahams replied sincerely, then he redirected his attention back to me, motioning for the both of us to sit while he moved back around his desk. “What, may I ask, is the purpose of your visit this time, Miss Granger?”  
  
“We're looking for something, Sir,” I answered and noticed the subtle paling of his face, understanding immediately to what he was thinking. “No,” I quickly said, “nothing as serious as the last time I was here.”  
  
He released a breath of relief and then nodded. “What do you seek then?”  
  
I shared an uncertain glance with Draco before turning back to the older wizard. “We don't know.”  
  
“You don't know?” Grahams inquired, taken aback. A look of confusion crossed his face as he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his desk. “I'm unsure how I could be helpful to you if you don't know what you're looking for.”  
  
“We're looking for something that a group of others were looking for,” I attempted to explain. “They were here, searching for something, and we need to know what it is.”  
  
Sitting back suddenly, Mr Grahams eyes drilled into mine. “Another young couple were in here just yesterday asking me the same thing. I'll tell you what I told them, that I cannot divulge that, Miss Granger. This library has a privacy policy, you should know that better than anyone, as the same courtesy was extended to you a few years ago.”  
  
Hesitating, I turned to Draco. “Mr Black, would you give me a moment alone with Mr Grahams?”  
  
Draco didn't even blink before nodding and leaving the room, both Grahams and I watching him go until the door was closed firmly behind him. It wasn't that I wanted to keep anything from Draco, in fact I'd probably tell him everything that Grahams would say, but I felt that the curator might be a bit more at ease talking to me alone.  
  
“Godfrey,” I began, standing myself and moving to the side of his desk, resting my hip against it and looking down at him seriously.  
  
I was unsure of what to say next, but Grahams himself saved me from having to think of something. “It  _is_ as serious as the last time you were here, isn't it? Not exactly whatever you are looking for, but what it is you're doing?”  
  
Nodding, I questioned needlessly, “I trust everything I say will be taken in the utmost confidence?” After only a second’s hesitation, he nodded, so I continued, “Have you ever heard of The Order of the Phoenix?”  
  
“Rumours, of course. Many claim that the apparent secret society were the real people behind the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named, that you and Mr Potter worked for them --”  
  
I cut him off there. “It's all true. The Order exists, though Harry and I weren't working for them. We were members.” I paused, giving him a moment to take it in. “Our mission, I guess you could call it, is to take down whomever attempts to darken the light in our world. For three years, we haven't needed to take any action, but recently, on my urging in fact, we reformed.”  
  
He leaned forward again, shaking his head slightly as he questioned quietly, “I'm not sure I understand, Hermione. Are you saying that there's another war breaking?”  
  
“Not yet, Godfrey. But if we don't take steps now, that may be what we're dealing with. At the moment, we aren't trying to win a war, like we were last time, we're attempting to stop one from ever starting.”  
  
“And whatever you're looking for in my library, or rather, whatever the other people were looking for, is important to this?” he asked, beginning to understand.  
  
I nodded. “Yes. They would have been in disguise, of course, but I can tell you that at least one of them is a known Death Eater.”  
  
His eyes widened and he searched my face for the truth, before finally nodding and taking a deep breath. “I believe I may have encountered these people. Normally, I wouldn't be of any help to you, as hundreds of visitors come through this library a week, but this sticks out in my memory. Or rather, it doesn't.”  
  
“What do you mean?” I questioned, confused.  
  
He tapped the side of his head, “I'm fairly certain that someone used a memory charm on me last week.”  
  
Shaking my head, I asked, “If they used a memory charm, then how would you know?”  
  
With a very slight smile, Grahams answered, “Because whoever performed it did a very poor job. There are still bits and pieces there, like threads of a tapestry. I can see small pieces, but can't remember the entire situation.”  
  
“What do you remember?” I asked, leaning forward, hoping that whatever he said would be enough to get the Order past square one in our situation.  
  
“I was in the Architectural Archives. I rarely go back there, but there was a young lady here from Salem that day, who was intrigued by Hogwarts, and asked for a floor plan.” He chuckled slightly, “Of course, I told her that Hogwarts changes its floor plan when it wills it, but went in search of a rough design I know we have.   
  
”That's when it happened, there were two, maybe three of them, I can't remember exactly how many, nor what they looked like. And I don't know what they were looking at, though I do remember I had the instinctual feeling not to trust them. I recall a flash of white light, and then I was back in my office, trying to explain to the young woman, and myself, why I hadn't returned with the papers.”  
  
It wasn't much, but it was something. “The Architectural Archives, you said?” I asked and Grahams nodded. “Do you have blueprints there of prominent places?”  
  
“We have blueprints from just about every wizarding building in Europe,” he answered.  
  
I couldn't contain a soft sigh, but questioned further. “What about just in England? What are the most notable places you have archived?”  
  
“Well, like I said, we have a rough design of Hogwarts, but that's it. A few renewed plans from Hogsmeade, the Ministry, and Diagon Alley,” he answered, his look conveying that he didn't understand why I was asking.  
  
Thinking furiously, I straightened and walked to the door, opening it. Draco looked as if he were just coming back down the short hall, but I didn't really take notice of that, I just motioned him inside. He opened his mouth to say something once I'd closed the door, but I cut him off.  
  
“If you were him,” I began, knowing that I didn't need to name Lucius, “what target would you chose to be your first major attack, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Ministry or Diagon Alley?” I asked in a rush.  
  
Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, “If I could, I'd pick the Ministry or Hogwarts, but he's not powerful enough yet, he hasn't got the strength or the fire power to go after them, and in Hogwarts' case, he probably never will. Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade would still be good choices though, notable, public places. Lots of innocents to kill.”  
  
“That's what I thought. We should tell the Order straight away,” I said.  
  
“I agree,” Draco said. “But we should leave this place discretely, preferably through Mr Grahams' floo.” Meeting his eyes curiously, I asked a silent question and he answered, “There's a reporter and photographer from the Daily Prophet out in the lobby. Seems I'm not the only one who should have disguised themselves,” he added in a whisper.  
  
Sighing, I nodded, then turned back to Mr Grahams. “Godfrey, would you mind terribly if we used your floo fire to leave? Word seems to have gotten out that I'm here.” He agreed straight away, so I took a few steps closer and gave him a warm smile. “Thank you so much for all your help.”  
  
He took my hand, shaking it lightly. “I admire what you and the Order are doing, what you have done, so I promise to be as helpful as possible in the future, if it is needed. Don't be a stranger though, Hermione, I've found myself missing our discussions.”  
  
“I'll visit again as soon as I can, Godfrey,” I promised, then Draco and I made our way to the floo.   
  
With a swirl of green flames, we were spinning through the network, only to tumble from the fire in the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts and facing down the wrath of Minerva McGonagall as we told her that we'd ignored her request and gone to the Birmingham Library anyway.  
  
She railed on us for a full five minutes before taking a breath, fixing us both with an icy glare and questioning harshly, “Did you at least find something?”  
  
“We think so,” I answered. “After talking with the curator we're fairly certain that Blaise and his friends were in the Architectural Archives. We believe the Order needs to be focusing on Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.”  
  
“You believe?” she questioned with an arched eyebrow and I couldn't help feeling like a student who had just been caught coming out of the Forbidden Forest. “You want us to be stretching our resources to watch two places that we can't even be certain are targets?”  
  
I heard Draco scoff and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples to stave off the headache I knew was on its way. “What the bloody hell else do you lot have to go on?” he questioned angrily. “This is the only lead we've got, what have we got to lose?!”  
  
McGonagall glared at him, but after a long moment, her entire body seemed to slump as she released a resigned breath. “I'm aware of that, Mr Malfoy.” She paused, thinking, then went on, “Very well. I'll call an Order meeting for tonight, it isn't necessary for the two of you to be present, as I'll only be relaying what you have found and proposing we set up a watch-roster for Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”  
  
“We'd be happy to take a shift, Headmistress,” I volunteered, even though I knew it was pointless. “A few charms and we'd be fully disguised,” I told her, glancing at Draco, who still looked like a long lost son of Lily Potter.  
  
“No,” she denied straight away, even though I'd seen the mirth in her eyes when she'd first realized that it was Draco Malfoy with me. “I want the two of you out of sight, and I damn well expect you both to listen this time. When the time comes, you shall be immediately informed and shall be welcome then and only then, to join us.”  
  
Draco snorted, “'Immediately' meaning a few hours later when the owl finally makes it to us.”  
  
McGonagall fixed Draco with what I believe was the first smug look I'd ever seen on her face. “Oh ye of little faith,” she muttered, opening the drawer and pulling out a small, reflective item. She passed it across her desk and I took it. “I assume you know what that is?” she inquired.  
  
Nodding, I said, “A two-way mirror. Harry, Ron and I used them during the war.” I flipped it open, only to find my own reflection, which made me quickly close it back up and hand it to Draco, so he could inspect it.  
  
“I asked Remus to find a few when it became clear you weren't going to tell us where you both are. Owls are inconvenient. Both myself and Remus have one of the mirrors, so shall you ever feel the need to call upon us, all you need do is say our names. It'll be much easier for us to contact you now, instead of having to wait for Hedwig,” McGonagall explained.   
  
“Now,” she said as she stood, “best the both of you be going, it will be dark and cold soon enough. I'll talk to the Order tonight, we'll set up a watch.”

  



	24. Jersey

The rain was pelting heavily on the roof of the cottage around a week after our visit to Birmingham. Remus had been the one to contact us the next day, informing Draco and I that our information was being put to use, and that there was a twenty-four hour Order watch on both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Now we were just waiting, silently hoping that Lucius fell down a staircase and broke his neck before he got the chance to attack, to kill anyone.  
  
It was early in the morning when a crack of thunder woke me. To be honest, I had expected snow by this point in the year, but so far the weather had been holding out, though I didn't think it was far away. We'd gotten a storm instead, one that had began early the evening before, making sleep difficult for me to capture, and was still going.   
  
Burying further into the warm body beside me, I attempted to ignore the sounds of rain, thunder, and howling winds, only to find it simply wasn't possible as another crack rang out, loud enough to subtly shake the cottage.   
  
With a growl, I rolled out of Draco's embrace, onto my side and looked at the clock. It was already past seven, but with how dark the sky outside was, and the little sleep I had gotten the previous night, it certainly didn't feel like an hour I'd normally be out of bed by.  
  
I smiled when Draco rolled after me a minute later, so that his naked chest could press into my jersey-covered back. His arms came around me, pulling me deeper into him, before his hands rested side by side on my stomach.   
  
I could hear a small groan rumbling in the back of his throat as he buried his face into my neck, the light stubble on his chin tickling me. I could feel his groggy smile as he rubbed his unshaven face over my neck a little more after hearing my soft laughter.  
  
“We should get up,” I told him, rolling back to face him, but not breaking the contact of our bodies.   
  
He propped his head on top of mine as I snuggled further into him, and the hold he had on me tightened. He wouldn't open his eyes and his voice was scratchy from sleep when he tiredly asked, “Why?”  
  
A contented sigh slipped from my mouth as he slipped his hands up under my jersey and started to softly rub circles on my back. “Because,” I began, trying my hardest not to get distracted, “it's past seven.”  
  
“So?” he questioned. “We have utter freedom in this place, who's to say we ever need to leave this bed?” His eyes opened, and he moved his head back so he could meet my eyes. His eyebrows waggled suggestively, “We could stay here forever.”  
  
Laughing, I pulled out of his arms and sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and standing. “Yes, I suppose we could, but I need a shower,” I told him as I grabbed the hair-tie off my bedside table and pulled my hair back into a tail.  
  
“What if I were to join you, then?” he suggested.   
  
With a sigh, I glared over my shoulder at him. He was leaning up on one arm and the sheets had come down, showing the top half of his naked form. Even though I was frustrated by his suggestion, I did enjoy the sight of his skin.   
  
“Draco --” I began, but he raised a hand and cut me off.  
  
“I know, Granger ... I just wish ...”   
  
He trailed off and shook his head, then swung an arm around my waist and pulled me down, so that I was sitting on the edge of the bed. I was expecting him to explain, as he had a number of times since we'd been together, since I'd forbidden him from seeing me topless, that he would never judge me for whatever it was I was hiding.   
  
Perhaps he sensed that I was sick of the subject however, for he completely took me off guard when he said, “I really don't like seeing you in this jersey.”  
  
Glancing down at the piece of material he was referring to, I had to smile. The red and gold Gryffindor quidditch jersey was always comfortable and warm enough to wear to bed in winter, though I doubt it was the colour of the jersey that put Draco off, so much as the fact that 'Potter' was printed on the back in big, bold letters.  
  
He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his wand. I watched, wondering what he'd do, as he flicked it a few times at me. The red and gold changed to silver and green, the Gryffindor lion morphed into the entwined Slytherin snake and S, and without even having to see it, I knew that 'Malfoy' was now printed on the back.  
  
“Much better,” he said smugly, tossing the wand back to its spot next to mine and the alarm clock. With that, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back, admiring my new look appraisingly.  
  
I gave the outfit an amused glance. “Very funny, Draco, but you do know I'll change it back,” I told him. It made me tingle inside to be wearing a replica of his quidditch jersey, like a real girlfriend or something, but Harry's uniform was one of my most treasured possessions.   
  
“I know,” he said, the look falling from his face. “It's nice to see you in that, though. I wish I had mine to give to you.”  
  
His comment made me think for a moment, before asking, “Where are all your things?”  
  
Draco shrugged. “I'm not sure. I don't know what was done with my trunk and belongings when Snape and I fled from Hogwarts after Dumbledore died.” He paused, thinking. “And I guess that my mother put all of my things away, somewhere, when Malfoy Manor was abandoned. I never got the chance to ask her where, though.”  
  
I could sense his sadness, see it in his posture and the dull light of his eyes, but I wanted to know, so I asked anyway, “What do you mean? What happened to her?”  
  
It took a moment for him to compose an answer, “She'd made an Unbreakable Vow with Snape, she'd asked him for one, went behind the Dark Lord's back to do it. He executed her shortly after he found out. I was told that Aunt Bella tried to stop her from seeing Snape, but she was willing to do anything to protect me,” he informed me quietly.  
  
I'd known about the Vow. A few months into the hunt, Snape had come to us. At first, we'd been extremely distrustful of him, but after Moody and myself had taken him through a number of extreme interrogations, we'd come to believe everything he was saying.   
  
He told us about the Vow with Narcissa, that he'd sworn to protect Draco, and to finish the task set out for him if Draco couldn't do it. He'd also claimed, and we knew it to be truth, that he'd told Dumbledore about the vow.  
  
On Dumbledore's orders, Snape had completed the task set out for Draco, killing the Headmaster. Snape had shown us the entire conversation in a pensieve. Right from the beginning, Dumbledore hadn't believed Draco capable of becoming a murderer, and had instructed Snape to, when the time came, complete the young wizards assignment. Snape had argued vehemently, telling the Headmaster that he would rather die himself by breaking the Vow, than kill the man who meant the most to him.   
  
It hadn't only been in Draco's best interests either, that Dumbledore had instructed Snape to murder him, it had been in everyone's. The Headmaster knew that Snape's worth as a spy was more important than his as a leader, especially when there was already someone who could take his place, Harry.   
  
And, as Dumbledore had argued to the Potions master, if his death meant that at some point in the future, Snape could save Harry's life, then it was more than worth it. Snape resented Harry even more for that, but it had turned out that the Headmaster's foresight was greater than anyone had imagined. Severus Snape had died saving Harry Potter's life, and given the younger man the time needed to finish off Voldemort.  
  
This all brought me back to Narcissa Malfoy's sacrifice. She had more than likely known that she would be punished severely, maybe even with her life, if the Dark Lord ever discovered what she had done. But she had done it anyway, willing to give anything and everything to protect her son.  
  
“A mother's love,” I whispered, more to myself than to Draco as I ran a hand down his chest, thinking not only of Narcissa, but of Lily Potter, and my own mother, as well. “The fiercest form of love the world will ever see.”  
  
“She shouldn't have done it,” Draco said quietly. “I'm not worth dying for, and if she hadn't ... maybe she'd still be here.”  
  
I sighed and shook my head, “You were her everything, Draco. And you were, you are, worth it. But that doesn't matter, even if you weren't, she was your mother, she loved you, she would have done anything for you.”   
  
I paused, studying his face for a moment before putting a voice to my thoughts, “I know that because of your father you believe that ... that you must earn someone's love, or something, like you do with trust, but love doesn't work like that. Your mother's sacrifice, more than anything, should prove to you that love isn't conditional. You can't gain and lose someone's love based on your behaviour, once you have it, it’s forever.”  
  
His face was stone, his jaw tightly clenched, but even though his eyes were diverted from mine, I saw the tears in them. The room was silent for a long time, only the sounds of the raging storm outside echoing throughout the house. I watched without a word for a long while as he composed himself, taking a deep breath and then finally meeting my eyes.  
  
“It seems that you already know about my parents, what about yours? You've never mentioned them, all I know about them is that they're muggles,” he said, effectively turning the topic away from his pain.  
  
I don't think he realized he was turning it directly onto mine. “They  _were_  muggles,” I whispered.  
  
He paused for a moment, then asked softly, “The Dark Lord?”  
  
Nodding, I told him, “Yes. On October 3rd of what would have been our seventh year. I had worried that ... that maybe they would be vulnerable to attack, but I never expected it to actually happen.” I shook my head, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. “They were just muggles, completely helpless against such dangerous wizards. They couldn't even fight back.”  
  
That had been the night that had sealed me deep in the war against Voldemort and all those who followed him. When Tonks had arrived at Grimmauld, looking utterly miserable, and told me what had happened, I knew that I would do anything that brought about the fall of the darkness. I had been willing before, but now it was far more personal. I was no longer just ready to die for the cause, I was ready to kill for it.  
  
At the time, I wasn't sure if I'd ever get over such a loss, and in a way, it scarred me as deeply as when I lost Harry and Ron, just differently. What made things easier in getting over the death of my parents was that my two best friends had been with me throughout the entire ordeal, they had given me the time and comfort I needed to mourn, then pulled me through the depression that came with the grief, helped me to become stronger.  
  
Draco's soft touch brought me out of my thoughts as he gently took the hand that had been resting on his chest and gripped it in his own. “It seems,” he said, “that in one way or another, the Dark Lord orphaned us both.”  
  
He let go of my hand and reached for his wand once more, flicking it at my jersey. The colours morphed once more, the silver of Slytherin turning into the maroon of Gryffindor, so that the jersey was now red and green, and the snake turning back into the lion that had been my house crest for all my years at Hogwarts.  
  
Looking at the outfit appraisingly, Draco commented, “A compromise, yes, but green looks so good on you that I'm willing to sacrifice the silver.”  
  
“Which name is on the back now?” I questioned.  
  
With the smallest of smiles, he answered me, his eyes very serious, “Granger.”  
  
I gave him a small smile of my own, leaned down and kissed him softly, then straightened, composing myself before I stood and walked to the door, heading for the shower and seriously considering keeping the jersey just the way he had made it.

  



	25. Scars

The first time I had an inkling that the thing between Draco and myself, whatever it was, may have been much deeper than two lonely people taking comfort in each others presence and shagging, came late at night on Christmas Eve. The holiday had arrived suddenly, from my perspective anyway, as I hadn't been paying all that much attention to the days that were passing us by.  
  
McGonagall and Remus had been updating us regularly, informing us that nothing had happened so far, and that a few people were still in the field, trying to get more information. It was a waiting game, and there was nothing I hated more than sitting back and passing the time until the moment that could very well change my life arrived. To say it was frustrating would have been a massive understatement.  
  
I found myself in the living room the night of Christmas Eve, as per usual, with Draco across from me, thumbing through something or other that he'd found on my bookshelves. The fire was roaring at the front of the room, keeping us warm in the winter cold, and as I glanced up from the novel I had been immersed in, I caught sight of tiny spots of white falling down past the window.   
  
With a small smile, I placed my book down and stood, walking to the glass panes. Once there, I stood motionless, simply watching the snow fall. Normally, in this part of the world, the ground would be white at least a few weeks earlier in the year, and it had struck me as odd that it hadn't started snowing already, but I couldn't fault the first fall being on Christmas Eve.   
  
So mesmerized by what was happening outside, I didn't even hear Draco move, didn't know that he'd left his spot on the couch until his arms wrapped around me from behind and his breath warmed my neck.   
  
I relaxed into his embrace for a while as we both watched the white flakes pass by the window in silence, then without even realizing I was doing it, I refocused my gaze so that I was no longer looking out of the window, but rather into the reflection it displayed.  
  
What I saw very nearly took my breath away. It was unbelievable, the way we fit, how he was the perfect height to sit his head on my shoulder, how neatly his chin rested in the crook of my neck. But it wasn't only how good we looked together, it was the way we looked, both of us seeming so content, like this was exactly where we were meant to be and there was nothing in the world that could have brought us more peace.  
  
And it couldn't have. Standing by the window in his arms, thinking about it, I couldn't bring to my mind one thing that could have settled me, could have saved me, the way Draco had. It brought a smile to my face to think that I had had the same effect on him as well.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” he questioned, his voice deeper than usual and the breath used to speak the words tickling my neck.  
  
Without a thought, I shook my head and replied in a whisper, “Nothing.”  
  
Whether he believed me or not, he never said. Instead he kissed my neck, knowing exactly how sensitive it was, and grinning smugly when I shivered. I reached over my shoulder and whacked him around the back of the head, laughing softly, and then turned in his arms. I'm fairly certain I took him by surprise when I kissed him firmly, forcefully, ramming my tongue into his mouth.  
  
He responded in kind, his fingers digging into my lower back as he pulled me flush against him. After that it didn't take long for things to reach boiling point and before I could even get my bearings, my legs were wrapped around his waist, my hands meshed into his hair, and my tongue caressing his in the warmth of our mingled mouths.   
  
He was moving us through the house, but I had no idea, nor cared at that point, in which direction until my back landed on the mattress of my bed, Draco's body falling along with me.  
  
That was when he slowed, an action that confused me as usually by the time we reached the bed, if we made it that far, we would be frantically ripping away each other's clothing. His lips left mine and I opened my eyes to find his fixed on my face, his gaze so intense that I almost gasped.   
  
Draco Malfoy lay on top of me, staring at my face, his eyes giving me the impression that I actually meant something to him, something important.  
  
He reached for the hem of my shirt and instinctively, I stopped him, the lingering passion mixed with the sudden terror I got whenever someone may see what I hid beneath my clothes made my hands shake. His grey eyes were so warm when they met mine, a pleading look in them.   
  
No words were necessary, I knew what he wanted. He wanted to see, he wanted me to trust him enough to show him the one last demon I had kept from him, but it scared the hell out of me.  
  
“Please, Hermione,” he whispered. “Let me. Don't hide this from me any longer.”   
  
He used my first name so rarely that I knew this was important to him and his soft voice was a comfort, telling me with the tone that it was okay to share what I hid with him, that he'd never again judge me on appearances of any kind.  
  
Nervous beyond belief, I slowly slid out from under him and sat on the edge of the bed, resting my feet on the floor. With trembling hands, I grabbed the hem of my shirt. After a deep breath, I caught my lip in my teeth and lifted, bringing it up over my head and tossing it to the ground.   
  
The bed moved, and Draco positioned himself so that he was kneeling behind me, his warm hands sliding over my shoulders. I appreciated how gentle he was being, helping me to ease into this, an act that scared me so.   
  
No one had ever really seen the scars I had been left with after my time imprisoned by Death Eaters, except Madame Pomfrey, whom had healed them the best she could. But sharing them with your physician and sharing them with your lover were two very different things.  
  
Draco's hands slid down my back, brushing my hair aside and tentatively reaching for my bra strap. I leaned back into his touch, letting him know that while I was scared and nervous, I actually did want to do this, I no longer wanted to hide it from him.   
  
He took the hint, knowing it was okay, and undid the clasp, then slowly moved the straps over my shoulders and down my arms, where I took the bra off completely and let it fall from my fingers to the floor.  
  
His arms came around me, his hands resting together on my belly, and he pulled me into him, so that for the first time my naked back was pressed into his equally bare chest. He placed a soft kiss on my shoulder and as I turned my face to his, I saw that his eyes were closed, like he was waiting for me to give him the go ahead.  
  
Slowly, I turned in his arms, putting myself fully onto the bed so that we were now kneeling, facing each other. With my heart pounding, I raised my hand to his face and stroked his cheek until he opened his eyes. They didn't leave mine until I nodded, silently telling him that it was okay for him to look. I watched his face as he did, noting the sadness that ran across it, then the anger that made his jaw clench.   
  
“Those bastards,” he whispered, so quietly that I almost didn't hear him.  
  
I looked down myself, something I usually avoided doing, and couldn't stop the tears that came to my eyes as I remembered the pain I had been in, the absolute horror I had felt, and the state that they'd left my body. The acid the Death Eaters had used had burned its way right through my skin, leaving the left side of my chest, from my collarbone to the bottom of my breast, a mass of scar tissue.  
  
Warm tears fell down my cheeks, but Draco's thumb was there to wipe them away, reminding me that he was there and the brief thought crossed my mind,  _Is he always going to be here to catch my tears?_  I found myself hoping so. It was in that moment I knew that I never wanted him to leave me, and when I looked up into his eyes, I discovered the feeling was mutual.   
  
Unbelievably, there was something in his eyes that I'd never seen directed at me before, not like this. He was looking at me with such intense caring, love, that it made me gasp. Draco Malfoy loved me, there was no doubt about it, his eyes were showing it far too honestly.   
  
I didn't have time to wrap my head around it, let alone analyze my own feelings before he distracted me, sliding his hand up my ribcage. With only a moment’s hesitation, he was softly touching my scar and my mind was anywhere but on the feelings between us.  
  
My head was spinning and my heart was in my throat, pounding so hard that I had to breathe heavily, and then he kissed me, and everything else went blank, all thoughts flying from my mind as all I could focus on was his lips as they pressed against mine, his tongue as it entered my mouth, and his hands as he gently moved one over my scar and the other down my back.  
  
With tears still falling down my face, wetting his cheeks, I pushed him back against the bed and deepened the kiss. We were moving slow, something we'd never done before when we'd been on a bed, and I wanted him in a way I'd never wanted anyone before. It wasn't lust this time, but something much deeper.  
  
We'd never made love before, with Draco and I it had always been about the release, never about being together on that level, but I knew that what we were about to do would be emotionally stronger. It wasn't about Draco, it wasn't about me, it was about us now, and what we felt for each other.  
  
My tears didn't stop falling at any point, but their meaning changed, and at some point, Draco's joined them. Our eyes never once left each others, and I felt as if he were searching my soul, reaching, calling for it, wanting nothing more than for it to return to me so that it could join his. The touches were gentler, the movements slower, but when the release came, it was far more intense, infused with things that made me shiver.  
  
I lay in his arms afterwards, too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to mull over the silent revelations of the night. Nor was I ready to just yet, I simply wanted to bathe in the afterglow. I fell asleep to the sound of his heart beating in his chest, his fingers stroking my arm, and with the unshakable feeling in the back of my mind that something I had lost years before, had just been found.

  



	26. Bracelet

The morning of Christmas Day, I woke to an empty bed. It didn't worry me, especially since I could hear the shower running. Still sleepy, I rolled onto my stomach and spread out on the bed, suddenly becoming aware of my nakedness when my bare breasts rubbed against the sheets. Like a flood, memories of the night before assaulted my mind, drowning me in thoughts and questions.  
  
I shot up in place, bringing the sheets up with me to cover myself, my heart pounding. I listened for a moment, making sure the shower was still running. It hadn't been a dream, my nudity proved that, at the very least my breasts would be covered if the previous night hadn't of happened.  
  
My mind whirled, confusion making it thick and muddy. Had Draco and I really made love last night? Dear Merlin, we had. We'd done something that had, up until last night, been forbidden between us, by some unspoken agreement. This was never meant to happen. We were never meant to have actual feelings for each other.   
  
Part of me felt it was utterly absurd, as twisted as if Ron had come to me a few years ago and casually mentioned his deep, passionate love for Gregory Goyle. But another part of me felt as if it were natural, as if our time together had been leading towards it and it was the next logical step in our relationship.  
  
Caring for him was one thing, but falling for him? No, never, not possible ... if one were to discount how close we had grown. And there was the core of this evolution. Draco and I had grown close. Three, four years before, I would have never thought I'd allow him to be even a guest in my home. Back then it had been incomprehensible that I would trust him, let alone kiss him. Even caring for him had never crossed my mind. The thought of shagging him would have made my younger self ill.  
  
But a few years can make all the difference, what happens in those years can build a completely different person from the one that was there before. The world had changed since then, and so had both Draco and myself.   
  
He was no longer the Slytherin prince, willing to follow in daddy's footsteps and kneel at the Dark Lord's feet. He was a good man now, I knew that, he was trustworthy and wanted nothing more than to destroy the man who had made his and many other peoples lives a living hell.   
  
And I was no longer the proud Gryffindor who had the best friends a girl could ask for and always seemed to have her nose stuck in a book. I was a changed woman, my experiences making me harder, perhaps even colder.   
  
We'd gone from complete opposites to two of a kind. It seems we'd met in the middle somewhere along the way. And just the night before, we'd made love. I was so confused, there were so many things I needed to think about, the least of which being whether or not I was falling in love with Draco, but I needed to clear my head first.  
  
Getting up, I quickly wrapped a robe around my naked body, not willing to look down at myself, and then quietly made my way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, only pausing for the briefest of moments at the bathroom door, an unwilling smile coming over my face when I heard Draco humming over the sounds of the shower. Once in the kitchen, I proceeded to make myself a very strong cup of coffee.  
  
With the warm mug in my hand, I walked out onto the back patio, the chill hitting me instantly. Snow layered the ground, the lake was frozen over, but it was a beautiful Christmas morning. I allowed it to calm me, help me clear my mind and took a sip of the coffee, hoping that the caffeine would make everything better again. It didn't, but it was helpful.  
  
Shoving all of my confused thoughts to the back of my mind, I tried to relax in the early morning chill and I was doing a fine job of it until the door opened and Draco walked out. Without a conscious thought, I stiffened and slowly turned my head towards him.   
  
He stood by the bench I sat on, with his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground and shuffling his feet and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He was probably just as nervous and confused about this whole situation as I was.  
  
He looked up and met my eyes suddenly, giving a small smile and saying, “Happy Christmas.”  
  
“Happy Christmas, Draco,” I replied softly, not knowing what else to say.   
  
The silence was becoming unbearable when he broke it. “I got you something,” he told me and took a few hesitant steps until he could sit down beside me. “Actually, I made it.” From his pocket he pulled a bracelet carved from wood and polished nicely.  
  
When he extended the gift, I placed my coffee cup beside me and took it from his outstretched hands, our skin brushing only briefly, but the contact still enough to send a rush through me.   
  
Shaking it off, I examined the bracelet. It was perfectly rounded and remarkably smooth, especially since it was covered in intricate carvings of flowers and vines. I couldn't stop the smile that formed on my face and I had to take a deep breath before I slipped it on my wrist.  
  
“It's beautiful, Draco, thank you.” Looking at him, I gave an apologetic shrug, “I didn't get you anything.”  
  
His gaze was intense, burning and although his words were barely above a whisper, they were dead serious, “Oh, I think you did.” Before either of us had a chance to go into deeper conversation about what his words meant, he lifted my hand and took a good look at the bracelet. “It suits you, I thought it would when I had the idea.”  
  
Draco never let go of my hand, but we slipped into silence, both of us pondering everything and nothing. When I finally decided that we needed to speak about what had happened, I didn't know what to say and when the words tumbled from my mouth, they were quiet, my tone utterly baffled, “What the hell is happening here, Draco?”  
  
His response was a deep sigh and an honest, “I have absolutely no idea.”  
  
I gave him a wry chuckle and turned towards him, “Neither do I, it's all so bloody confusing.”  
  
“Maybe ... maybe we should take some time to think things over, get our own thoughts straightened out and then ... then we'll figure out where to go from here,” he suggested.  
  
I nodded, “Probably the best course of action.” Standing, I handed him my coffee mug, giving him the rest and said, “I'm going to go shower, I'll ... see you around.” I stopped just as I reached the door and turned back to him, “Thank you for the bracelet, Draco, it really is beautiful.”  
  
“You're welcome, Hermione,” he whispered as I slipped back inside and headed straight for the bathroom.  
  
Once inside, I locked the door, more out of habit than anything as it was something I'd picked up since the first day Draco had been in my home. I turned on the shower, adjusting it to my temperature and then slipped off my robe, hanging it up. As I took the few steps back to the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and immediately shied away from it, another habit.   
  
It only took a few moments to make a decision and then another minute or so to steel myself with deep, calming breaths. Slowly, I turned towards the mirror and the sight made me shiver, as it always had. An echo of pain stung my breast and I raised a shaking hand to it.   
  
The mangled skin was soft, as scar-tissue normally is and felt abnormal under my fingers. I traced it down and closed my eyes, only to quickly reopen them when, behind shut lids, I found myself back in that dungeon under the merciless hands of Death Eaters.  
  
A half-contained sob worked its way out of my mouth and there were tears running down my face. Harshly, I shook my head and brushed them away. I was one of the lucky ones, wasn't I? I had survived when so many others had died with nothing more to show for it than a hideous scar. A scar that I had kept closely hidden until the previous night.  
  
I hid this ... deformation from the entire world, even from myself, for years and yet I had bared it to Draco Malfoy of all people. And he hadn't judged me for it, not as he would have once, years ago. He had been so gentle and tender with it, with me. I had offered the most private part of myself, my nightmares, to him and he had taken them, not saying a word, but somehow vowing to hold them close and treasure even the darkest part of me.  
  
It had been a night of give and take, of passion and Merlin yes, of love. It hadn't been an intimate joining of just bodies, but also of souls. But was I in love with him? I still had absolutely no idea. Was he in love with me? Maybe. I thought he could have been by the look in his eyes, but I didn't think there was any way I could know for certain until he actually said the words out loud and being who he was, what his life had been like, I didn't think that was ever likely to happen.  
  
Shaking myself, I averted my eyes from the reflection in the mirror and took the bracelet off, placing it on the counter. Before I got in the shower, however, I moved back to the door and unlocked it. Last night I had been able to show him the ugliest, both physically and emotionally, part of myself and I knew he would never judge it, so this morning if he wanted to share my shower, he was more than welcome to it.  
  
I didn't know if I was ready to love him, or even to be loved by him, but as I stepped under the warm water of the shower I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was ready to try.

  



	27. Love

Draco and I were able to settle back into our normal routine again, but even so, there were still little changes between us, like the glances we shot each other, they were different somehow, and the touches became more frequent.   
  
It was the nights that had changed the most, however. We rarely shagged anymore, and even when we did there was always something more to it in the frantic, heated moments. Now, we made love, slowly and emotionally, giving each other all that we had.  
  
My mind had been a whirl the entire time, still trying to come to terms with what I was feeling for him. There were moments, while I was looking at him in the firelight, or as he strolled in the snow, where I was sure of what I felt for him, certain that I was in love with him. But then there were other times, times when I didn't know, where I battled within myself for comprehension. Was it love? I thought it may be, but I wasn't sure and it was all so bloody confusing. I wondered if he were just as messed up over it as I was, if his mind also swirled with questions and confusion.  
  
Neither of us had spoken of it, still giving each other the space that was needed to sort things out for ourselves, but I guess it simply couldn't be put off forever, the words had to be said and he brought up the topic when I'd least expected it.   
  
We stood on either side of the kitchen, screaming at each other when it happened. I can't even remember how the argument had began, something about werewolf rights or some other thing that we tended to disagree on.  
  
“You are an egotistical son of a bitch! You're the lowest form of human I have ever had the misfortune of meeting in my life! You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself and --” I raged at him from my side of the kitchen.  
  
As I built up a head of steam, it became suddenly obvious that he had something other than whether or not a lycan should be teaching at Hogwarts on his mind when he cut me off with words that made me stop dead in my tracks, “And you love me!”  
  
Freezing, I looked at him in shock for a long moment, my brow furrowed with resonant anger and my lips partially open with the words I had been about to say. He glared at me from the other side of the dining table, his breath coming in short, quick puffs as he tried to regain it and his anger.  
  
“Well?” he prodded when I still hadn't responded in a long couple of minutes. “You love me?” He was using his anger as a cover, but he had posed the words as a question this time, telling me that he was hesitant and unsure.  
  
I sighed and turned my eyes to the wooden table in front of me, my fingers tracing the grain of the timber, my teeth chewing on my lower lip. "I don't know, Draco," I said softly.   
  
“What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know something like that? You, who knows how many stones were used to build Hogwarts!” he snapped angrily.  
  
“I meant what I said!” I shouted to stop his questioning, then looked up to meet his eyes, my own pleading for him to understand. “I've never been in love before, Draco, I've no idea what it feels like, no idea how to recognize if I am or not. I think I am, but I'm not sure.   
  
”I've been through so much in my life that I've forgotten what it's like to love someone, let alone be  _in_  love with them, since that's something I've never experienced. I know what pain is, I know what loss and grief and depression is. I've been tortured, violated, and stood in front of Voldemort himself. I've lost everyone that ever meant something special to me and being in love ... it just wasn't something I learned or if I did ... somewhere along the way I've forgotten it. This is all new to me and I'm struggling to comprehend it!”  
  
I stopped, taking a number of deep breaths and turning my eyes away from him before continuing, “Sometimes ... sometimes I think I do love you, that I'm in love with you ... sometimes I'm certain that I'm madly in love with you and then you go and say something so ... so  _you_  that I wonder how I could possibly love a person like that and I question whether or not what I really feel is love or just ... I don't know, really intense lust or something.”  
  
The glare he had been wearing faded from his face. His sneer still held, though it wasn't intentional, merely a force of habit after wearing it for so many years. “Something so like me?” he asked, his voice much softer than when he had previously spoken. “What does that mean exactly?”  
  
I couldn't help but wince at the hurt in his voice. I didn't know quite how to frame my response but after a long pause I shrugged and said simply, “Less Draco, more Malfoy.”  
  
His sneer became more pronounced as his anger from my words grew. “It's the way I am,  _Granger_ ,” he said, being sure to enunciate my family name. “Just like you are an insufferable know-it-all, I am a pureblood, elitist bastard.” His tone was cold, the way I remembered him using at Hogwarts and it sent a chill through me.   
  
He paused and glared at me a bit more, but I was able to see the emotion that brimmed as he swallowed several times before speaking again, “It seems that that offends you however, so I think it best if I were to leave.”  
  
He turned and walked from the kitchen, leaving the ball in my court. I knew what he wanted to hear, but I simply couldn't bring myself to say the words just yet, so instead I tried to stop him with a pathetic, “Where are you going to go, Draco? There's nowhere out there for you.”  
  
“At the moment, I think I'd take the woods over staying in this place a minute longer,” he said, his voice as hard as a diamond. When it was clear to him that I wouldn't, that I couldn't, say anything more, he kept walking.  
  
I jumped at the sound of his bedroom door slamming, and I knew in there he was packing away the few belongings he had. My tears fell silently. Never in my life did I imagine I would be in this position, wanting nothing more than for Draco Malfoy to stay with me.   
  
That's when I knew, when I became more certain of something than I ever had been in my life. There was nothing I wanted more than Draco and it was that simple. I was in love with him. Now I had to stop him leaving, stop him from walking away and taking my heart with him. The only problem was I didn't have a clue how.   
  
When he stalked from the room and back down the hall, a satchel slung over his shoulder, I knew I didn't have much time. Just as his hand was reaching for the knob of the front door, I gave up trying to find any elegant words, trying to find the words in the muddled mess that was my mind and just spoke, letting what I felt do the talking.  
  
“I never thought I'd live through a war, be the survivor when all those that I loved had died around me. I never thought I'd ever be able to recover.” As I spoke I took tentative steps towards him, although he did not turn from the door, simply stood completely still and listened. “I never thought my worst enemy would show up on my doorstep dying. I never thought he'd kiss me, nor that I'd kiss him back.” I took a deep breath. “And I most definitely never thought that ... I'd fall for him.”  
  
Silence rang throughout the room for a full minute, my words hanging between them. Finally, after what seemed to both of us as an infinite amount of time, Draco turned to me. From across the room his steel grey eyes stared into my brown ones, searching for the truth in my words.   
  
I put on a slight smile and shrugged once more. Trying to lighten the intense mood I said, “I’m supposed to be the smart one, yet the amount of things I'd never thought of could crush a person.” The smile faded. I looked down at my clasped hands fidgeting in front of me. “They have crushed a person. But ... I do ... I do love you, Draco,” I whispered so quietly that I wasn't sure if he'd heard me or not.  
  
He did and I knew that the moment he started across the room towards me. I barely had time to look up before he was right in front of me and there wasn't even time to think before he was pulling me towards him, pushing his lips upon mine, full of so much passion that I simply had to respond in kind, opening my mouth to his and winding my arms around his neck, trying to get as close to him as possible.  
  
The kiss was heated, everything we were feeling fused into it, leaving me light-headed and when he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, the passion of the kiss doubled in its intensity. Before I knew it we were in the bedroom, and he laid me on the bed, his touch softer than I'd ever known it as he slowly took my clothes off. When I reached for his shirt-buttons he batted my hands away, smiling gently.   
  
He didn't need to say the words, the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know, he felt the same way. He moved slowly, taking my shirt off, removing my bra, worshiping every inch of skin that was revealed to him.   
  
Even though we'd made love before, there was no doubt in my mind that this night was going to be different, even compared to those. For as long as we'd live, neither of us would ever forget the night that we admitted what was once impossible, that we were in love with each other.  
  
He slowly stripped me completely naked and I couldn't help but notice that he still had every piece of clothing on when he stood by the side of the bed, looking down on me with intense eyes. It was a touch disconcerting to see him staring at me in such a way, but I fought the urge to cover my body, letting his eyes travel over my skin. Just the look in his eyes when they were directed at me in that moment was enough to confirm things more than words possibly could.  
  
He removed his shirt quickly, tossing it to the floor and then slid onto the bed so that he lay beside me. He seemed hesitant to touch me, his hand hovering in between us for a long moment before finally making contact with my skin, his warm fingers trailing gently from my hip, up my side, past my breast, making my eyes slip close and my entire body tremble.   
  
Then he whispered a single word, one I'd never heard directed at me before, "Beautiful."   
  
My eyes opened to meet his and ... I believed him. With him looking at me like that, speaking with so much truth in his voice that, even if I didn't agree with his assessment, there was no way I could deny it was what he believed. In his eyes, at least, I was beautiful. The acknowledgment of that made it one of the most profound moments of my life.   
  
For a long while, it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, neither of us knew, we stared at each other, his soft hand running up and down my side as our eyes searched each others and I felt as if I could see right into his soul. Then neither of us could resist anymore and his hands were everywhere at once and I was finally allowed to reach down and unbutton his pants.   
  
To say it was a remarkable night would be an understatement. As I lay there the next morning, so early it was still dark, sweat drying on my body, every muscle I had relaxed and sated, with his warm arms around me and his slowing heartbeat beneath my ear, I finally found exactly what I'd been looking for in my self-imposed isolation. I found myself. For the first time in my life I was in love and for the first time in years I felt somewhere near complete.

  



	28. Instants

Perhaps I should have seen it coming, what happened just over a week after our admission. Pre-love, I would have. I'd have been ready, anticipating it. But the madhouse that is love was messing with my mind, making it difficult to see ahead and think clearly.   
  
I often wonder if it was worth it, if being in love was worth a clouded judgement. I usually decide that it was, that one piece of Draco's heart was more than worth it. But sometimes, when it all seems too much, I think that maybe it wasn't. That maybe if I hadn't of fallen for Draco when I did, that I could have been prepared for what was to come. That I could have been spared.  
  
I end up shaking off those thoughts very quickly. There are very few gifted enough to predict the future and I am most certainly not one of them. I couldn't have known what would happen and even if I did fate more than likely would have found a way to make it happen anyway, in spite of my attempts to stop it, to change things.  
  
When I was a little girl, I never believed in things such as destiny. That was for dreamers and I most certainly was not a dreamer. It was an interesting concept, but one based on the belief that a coin didn't flip up heads for no good reason. It wasn't something I was willing to put my faith in.  
  
But back then, I didn't believe in magic either. That was until my Hogwarts letter arrived and I discovered that magic didn't only exist, but it existed inside of me. It was a part of me and gradually it became my way of life. I can't even remember what it feels like to be a normal muggle, probably because I've never really been one. I can't imagine not being a witch. Even when I settled into a muggle lifestyle after the war, I could still feel the magic flowing through my veins. It isn't only a special feature I happen to have, it's who I am.  
  
So after I went to Hogwarts and discovered that world where I belonged, the concept of destiny was something I had to rethink. Still, it didn't seem probable. It wasn't tangible, it wasn't something I could feel, or hold, or study, and therefore, I still couldn't believe in it without doubts.   
  
Then I met Harry Potter, a boy whose entire life was based on destiny. But I also know it could have turned out very different, had other choices been made. Had Tom Riddle not been a psychotic maniac, there would have been no Voldemort. If Trelawny hadn't of made the prophecy, Harry would have been a normal boy. Had Lily Potter not made the choice to die for her child, then Harry would have been murdered as a small infant. Had Harry not had the courage to stand up to his demons, then we all would have been doomed.  
  
But Tom Riddle was a psychotic maniac, Trelawny did make a prophecy, Lily did die for her son, and Harry was the bravest person I'd ever known. Like pieces of a puzzle, it all seemed to fall into place to create the history we now know. Maybe there was really no choice in it all. Perhaps it was all meant to be, maybe destiny intervened and made sure all went as it should have.  
  
Only, if that was the way things should have been, why does it all feel so wrong? I could ponder this for the rest of my life and never really reach a conclusion. Can one's fate be changed? Can we run from our destiny, or even alter it more to our liking? I guess if we could it wouldn't mean the same thing, would it? Destiny is, as one dictionary describes it;  _the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events._ Therefore it would stand to reason that if one could change one's fate, it wouldn't be destiny.  
  
I could probably go off on an entire tangent about time travel here, but I won't, as I'll just end up making things even more confusing. Instead, I'll ask myself, if I knew then what I know now, would I change things? Would I have gone to Hogwarts knowing the suffering being a witch would bring me? Would I have befriended Harry Potter? Would I have allowed myself to develop feelings for Ron?  
  
And more currently, would I have accepted Malfoy into my home? Would I have let myself come to care for him? Would I have shagged him? If I had known that after months with him, he would bring me crashing back down to the place I had managed to claw myself out of, that in less than an hour he would put me back there, would I have trusted him with my heart? Did I even have a choice?  
  
I like to think I did. I like to think that despite fate's interference, our futures aren't set in stone, that rather it's our decisions, our actions, our emotions that decide which path we'll take. Then again, if that's the case, I've managed to stumble upon a pretty rubbish path.  
  
It's funny how one's path can change in such a short amount of time, how a persons entire life can be turned around in an instant. It's happened to me many times; when I was eleven and received my Hogwarts letter, discovering I'm a witch; when a troll happened to walk into the particular loo I was in, leading to a friendship that was stronger than blood; the death of my Headmaster and Harry's following decision to fight Voldemort instead of returning to school and my instant choice to follow him through the gates of hell; the moment Tonks walked in and informed me that my parents were dead; the time I held Ron's hand as his life left his body; the flash of green striking my best friend in the back and taking the one person I had left; then the moment that Draco Malfoy arrived on my doorstep, dying.  
  
It can all happen so quickly and for the moment that changed my life following Draco's arrival, I barely even had time to think. Beforehand, I was feeling utterly content. We'd been making love for hours and I lay on my stomach on the bed, warm and sated, feeling my lover’s soft hand running up and down my back slowly. It was such a peaceful moment.   
  
“Do you ever think about what's next for us?” Draco's soothing voice asked quietly in the darkness. “Do you ever think where we'll be in a few years, after my father is long forgotten?”  
  
To be honest, I hadn't thought of it. I hadn't been able to look past Lucius's demise thus far and therefore, the future seemed so far away. An odd sense of déjà vu swept over me. It was reminiscent of the night Harry had died. Neither of us had pondered life after Voldemort until that night, when he'd asked me what I was going to do if I survived. Now here I was, three years later, having not thought about life past Lucius Malfoy's death, and Draco was asking pretty much the same question.  
  
“No,” I answered quietly. “I've no idea where we'll be in a few years, Draco, I haven't thought about it at all. What about you? Where do you think we'll be?”  
  
There was a moment of silence and then he answered, “Right here.”  
  
Smiling, I rolled over so I could face him, giving him a long and slow kiss after I did so. “In this cottage, in this bed, with each other?” I asked him quietly after we'd parted.  
  
He gave me a cocky smirk. “Of course. You're mine now, Granger and I'm here to stay. Besides, I like this cottage, it's nice here and this bed is far more comfortable than the one in the spare room.”  
  
“I thought the spare room was now your room?” I asked in mock confusion, furrowing my brow and looking at him curiously.  
  
Shaking his head, he told me, “No, this is my room ... better yet, this is our room, yours and mine.”  
  
With a soft smile, I reached up and ran my hand down the side of his face, enjoying the feel of the whiskers on his cheek and chin under my fingers. “I never thought I'd ever say this,” I began and then met his eyes to show him just how serious I was, “but you and me, still right here in a few years, sounds wonderful, Draco.”  
  
He was smiling, leaning down to kiss me when we heard it; ten, maybe twelve assorted pops and bangs, not far from the house. Instantly, both of us were alert. We quickly scrambled out of the bed and slipped into some clothes, dressed and with our wands in hand in less than thirty seconds. Every light in the house was extinguished but the moon was shining brightly, so that was an advantage, meaning we could move confidently in the darkness, but whoever was outside could not.  
  
Draco walked to the window stealthily and looked out, craning his neck to see in the direction the sounds had come from. I covered the door, glancing back at him to ask quietly, “Do you see anything?”  
  
“Yes. I can see eight figures ... I think it's them, Hermione,” he whispered back, stating the utterly obvious.  
  
Restraining myself from rolling my eyes, I thought furiously about how they could have found us and came up blank. Everything short of the Fidelius, I had made sure that no one knew our location. Suspicions flittered across my mind as I looked at Draco, but I quickly and viciously stamped down on them.  _No,_  I told myself,  _he wouldn't have, he loves me and I trust him._  
  
I heard him swear under his breath and when he turned to meet my eyes from his position, crouched under the window, I was frightened by the hard look on his face. His grey eyes were steel glints in the light and his voice was tight when he said, “The bastards come himself ... Lucius is here.”

  



	29. Lucius

After Draco had informed me that his father was one of the men outside of my home, it suddenly dawned on me why our enemies were attacking my little cottage before they made a big show of destroying either Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Lucius wanted Draco and I, the last kinks in his plans, dead and gone before he moved forward and he was here in person because he wanted to either witness our deaths, or perform the acts himself.  
  
There were about a dozen of them, Lucius included, and only two of us. We needed back-up. “We can apparate to the gates of Hogwarts, wake McGonagall and Lupin then assemble the Order.”  
  
“That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard, Granger,” Draco snapped. “By the time the Order is ready, this lot will be gone and we'd have lost our chance to take Lucius down. Call the Order on that bloody mirror thing, tell them where we are and what's happening, but the moment we leave, he leaves and I won't risk losing him now, not when we're so close.”  
  
I couldn't help but see the logic in his statement, it was doubtful Lucius would hang around when he discovered we weren't here, especially if he realized that we had been, but we'd seen him coming and had ran off to get reinforcements. Lucius Malfoy may have been an arrogant prick, but he wasn't stupid.  
  
Quickly, I made my way to the bedside table and retrieved the mirror from the top drawer, hurriedly flipping it open and whispering, “Remus Lupin.” There was a few moments of just my reflection before Remus's face covered the screen, obviously having just crawled out of bed. Before he had the chance to speak, I did, “Remus, they're here, Lucius and his goons are outside of my home right now.”  
  
His eyes widened and he asked, “Where are you?” I gave him the coordinates, knowing that even though it were difficult, it was possible to apparate with only that as your destination. He nodded, “Stay put, Hermione, we'll be there as soon as we can.”  
  
His words were reassuring, but I couldn't help feeling that they'd be too late. The Order was scattered between their individual homes, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, it wouldn't be easy or quick getting them assembled and ready to fight.   
  
I shook my head at our stupidity as I threw the mirror back in the drawer. We'd had the Order focused on public targets, places where Lucius could make a grand entrance into the title of Dark Lord and we had missed the blatantly obvious, that he'd want Draco and I finished and out of his way before he could start his reign of terror. I could have slapped myself when it all fell into place in my mind.  
  
Draco made his way to my side. “We have to get out of this house,” he whispered hurriedly, “There's no room to manoeuvre in here.”  
  
Nodding, I started towards the door at a crouch and prepared for anything. “We have to buy ourselves some time,” I told him. “The Order will come as quickly as they can, but they're scattered.”  
  
He silently agreed with me as we made our way through the house, creeping down the eerily silent hallway. We were heading for the back door, through the living room when I picked up something bright heading our way in my peripheral vision. Before I even had time to look, there was a deafening smash as a cannon-ball sized fireball came flying through my window.   
  
I hit the ground, Draco coming down on top of me. I felt the heat as it flew over us and heard Draco's curse, knowing by the scent of burning hair that suddenly permeated the air that it had singed him. It slammed into the wall, causing pieces of wood and a rain of fire to shower down over us, and I quickly flicked my wand out, extinguishing the flames before my entire house went up in smoke.  
  
Before I even had the chance to pull my wand back, Draco was lifting me off to my feet and dragging me towards the back door. The cool air outside was able to slow my pounding heart somewhat, but adrenaline was coursing through my veins. It was probably a lucky thing that I didn't take a moment to catch my breath, because the blue bolt of a stunner came straight at us and Draco and I were instantly on the offensive.  
  
There were two of them, just off the back porch and old instincts, learned and honed during a time of war, came flooding back to me. Without even thinking, I sent a reducto at the nearest one. It hit him so hard, directly in the chest, that he was lifted off his feet and flew back twenty feet or so, breaking the ice of the frozen lake as he landed on it hard.   
  
I was turning towards the other one when a deep voice behind me spoke, sending shivers down my spine, “Don't even think about it, Granger.”   
  
Spinning around I saw Draco struggling in the grasp of a massive and terribly ugly man, his wand dinting Draco's throat and Blaise Zabini standing beside the two, pointing his wand directly at my chest, Draco's held firmly in his other hand, a sick and twisted smile on his face. They'd come through the house behind us and I mentally kicked myself for not having one of us watch our backs.   
  
Both Draco and I were glaring at our former classmate and my lover managed to spit through the tight hold he was in, “I should have let them kill you when they had the chance, Zabini.”  
  
Zabini laughed then held his hand towards me. “Give me the wand, Granger,” he instructed, but I stood my ground, glaring at him. The smile he'd been wearing disappeared and he gave me a cold look and stated, “Give me the wand, or little Malfoy here pays the price.”  
  
“Don't do it, Hermione, they're just going to kill us anyway,” Draco snarled, still struggling against his captor.  
  
When I hesitated, Zabini turned towards the ugly goon and simply nodded. I cut my eyes towards them in time to see the other man lovingly curse, “ _Crucio_.”   
  
Draco gasped and started shaking, slipping from the man's grip and dropping to his knees, his eyes firmly closed as he tried to control himself, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream.  
  
My heart ached, watching him suffer under the magical torture, and my hand shook as I did all I could to stop myself from simply throwing my wand at Zabini just to end Draco's pain, but I knew he'd been right, they were going to kill us anyway  
  
“Give me your wand, Granger,” Zabini repeated slowly but still, I hesitated. “Give it to me, or I kill him.”   
  
Looking at the Slytherin who had made the threat, I narrowed my eyes and questioned briskly, “What makes you think I give a damn if you do, Blaise?”   
  
The second after I'd said the harsh words, a cry of pain tore from Draco's throat and my eyes shot towards him, my heart rate increasing. He was curled up in a tight ball on the ground, his entire body wracking from the anguished feeling of thousands of white-hot knives penetrating him. I looked back at Blaise and knew from one look in his eyes that the mistake had been made, I'd shown my panic and worry, his threat now held genuine value.  
  
Zabini just smirked at me and motioned for my wand. I clung to the piece of wood tighter, glancing between the scum across from me and Draco and then, without even making a conscious decision, my trembling arm stretched forward and I deposited the wand in my enemies hand, leaving myself completely defenceless.   
  
I was able to breathe a short sigh of relief when the curse on Draco was lifted, however. He opened his eyes and looked at my empty hand, muttering, “Fuck,” in between pants as he tried to regain his breath.   
  
Blaise was wearing a self-satisfied look as he glanced down at Draco, then back at me. “Good. Now, if the two of you will come with me, my Lord awaits.”  
  
Draco scoffed as the other man hauled him from the ground onto his feet. “Your Lord? That's what you're calling the wanker now?”  
  
The comment earned him a hard glare, but Zabini didn't respond, just turned back towards the house. After sharing a look with Draco, I followed the former Slytherin. Glancing back, I saw the other, unknown man grip Draco by the collar and drag his shaky legs after us. Instinctively, I fell back and slipped an arm around my lover’s waist, helping him move.   
  
As we made our way through the cottage under wand-point, Draco hissed in my ear, “You shouldn't have given him your wand, Granger. You know that they're going to kill us anyway.”  
  
“I couldn't just stand by and let them torture you, Draco.” When it looked like he was about to reply, I cut him off, “And don't say you wouldn't have done the same thing had our positions been reversed.”  
  
He grumbled under his breath, but didn't deny my remark. Together, our hearts pounding in our chests, we made our way out the front door then through the snow, towards the gathered circle of our enemies, and more than likely, our death sentences.   
  
The congregation parted somewhat and for the first time in years, I found myself face to face with Lucius Malfoy. He hadn't changed much at all, his face was still smug and superior, his robes were still the best of the best, and his hair was still prettier than mine.  
  
The look of triumph on his face when we came to stand in front of him was almost more than my short-fuse could take. Anger coursed through my veins and I had to resist the urge to just step forward and deck the look right off of his face. My grip on Draco tightened and he made eye contact with me, silently telling me not to do anything foolish. The only relief I got was that the same look of pure fury was on his face.  
  
The elder Malfoy took a step towards us and scowled. He looked me over, and then shook his head as he slowly turned to meet his sons eyes. “A mudblood, Draco? Just when I thought you could disappoint me no more.”  
  
“Don't you dare talk to me about disappointment,  _Father_.” He spat the last word at his sire as if it was rotten on his tongue.  
  
Lucius's eyes, the same colour as Draco's yet so unlike his sons, hardened and I saw his hand shake in rage just before it came up so quickly it was a blur and snapped across Draco's face. The man I loved barely blinked, he just wiped away the small drop of blood that had formed on his lip and continued to glare at his father.   
  
In that moment, I honestly couldn't tell what was angering Lucius more, the fact that Draco was sleeping with a hated mudblood, or that his son no longer feared him.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he straightened and turned his back to us, proudly walking a few steps away before spinning grandly to face us once more, a smile on his pointed face. “Well, your betrayal shall be paid for, Draco. I will kill your dirty-blooded whore, slowly and painfully, while you watch and then you shall be executed for defying me.”  
  
Why did super-villains always have to explain what they were going to do to you before doing it? I couldn't help but roll my eyes, that was exactly why they always lost, too busy being pompous instead of just getting the job done. Glancing at Draco, I knew the same thought was going through his head. The longer Malfoy senior kept raving, the more time the Order had to assemble and attack.  
  
And rave he did. “Then, that remarkable Order will be without their spy and their brains and my victory shall be sealed. You see, I learned from my former Masters mistakes and I will not make the same ones. I will succeed where he failed; I will bring about a new world order in which purity of blood shall be guaranteed. No longer will half-bloods and breeds, mudbloods and muggles have free reign over what they can do. No longer will they take things that are ours by birthright. I will make sure of that.”  
  
Then he pointed his wand at me and grinned and said, “They will be punished for their filth.  _Crucio!_ ”   
  
The pain was indescribable, pure and forceful. I had felt it before but no matter how many times one was put under the curse, you could never be prepared for its power. It was as if someone had set fire to my body, my flesh was burning, my insides were twisting and I thought my head would explode.   
  
With all the will I had, I smothered a scream and dropped to the ground, vaguely aware of Draco's arms still around me, holding me while I suffered through the torment. Under the Cruciatus Curse, a second can feel like an hour, but I don't think I was suffering from it for more than a minute.   
  
Suddenly, the pain stopped, but my mind was still hazy, my body still twitching and shaking uncontrollably. I could hear voices, shouts, and Draco's triumphant voice in my ear, “It's alright, Granger, the Order is here.”  
  
He was pulling me away and with all the strength I could muster, I opened my eyes to find complete chaos around us. The battle was raging and Draco was trying to get me to safety, but my head was clearing, the pain was becoming bearable, so I pulled from his grasp and remembered a lesson Moody had taught me that had been the most useful thing I'd ever learned; “ _Your wand belongs in your hand, that's where it wants to be. Call it and it will come._ ” It's the simplest act of wandless magic there is.  
  
Reaching out, I called to my wand with all the magic I could feel in my veins and the small piece of wood that I cared for so much shot from the snow where Zabini had probably dropped it in his mad haste to get on the defensive and flew directly into my palm.   
  
I quickly summoned Draco's and handed it to him. He was staring at me in wonder, his eyebrow raised, but I had no time to explain, not with spells and curses flying over our heads like fireworks.  
  
A shadow loomed in the corner of my eye and I aimed my wand in that direction without even thinking and stunned the assailant, turning back just in time to hear Draco mutter, “Fucking bastard.”  
  
I followed the direction of his gaze as both Draco and I kept moving back, until we were deep enough into the forest to take cover. Next to the cottage, behind two of his followers, Lucius stood, protecting his precious arse, looking about to turn tail and run at any moment.  
  
Grabbing Draco's arm, I quickly whispered, “Go, Draco. Go get him.”  
  
He turned back to me but I was too busy drawing a circle in the dirt with my wand to meet his eyes. “I'd never make it in time, he's about to apparate out of here and save his skin.”  
  
Focusing on the circle, I kept spinning my wand around in the dirt, digging the marks I'd made deeper. “ _Haud Vado_.” Magic flooded through me into the circle and then shot out like an invisible shock wave, spreading across the cottage and all the land around it for miles.   
  
My entire body suddenly felt drained and I slumped closer to the dirt, Draco's worried voice being the only thing that could make me raise my head. “Hermione? Are you alright? What the fuck was that?”  
  
With a tired smile I looked at him and answered, “Anti-apparition ward. Now go get that evil prick while I get my breath back.”  
  
He quickly glanced in the direction of his father and then looked back at me, concern still etched in his features. “Are you sure you're alright?”  
  
Nodding, I reassured him, “I'm fine, Draco, I just need a minute ... a minute you can't waste here being worried about me. Go and destroy your father.”  
  
Draco studied me intently for a long moment, before his face hardened and he nodded. He kissed me quickly, both of us savouring the taste of each other for barely a few seconds before he jumped to his feet and ran out of the trees, and into the snow covered clearing surrounding the cottage that had now become a battle zone.   
  
I watched him go, hoping against all hope that that wouldn't be the last time he pressed his lips to mine.

  



	30. Climax

Taking deep breaths, I took a moment to study the fight from my position amongst the trees while I worked on getting even an ounce of my energy back. I could see Remus, right there in the thick of things, duelling two of the men Lucius had brought with him. Towards the edge of the clearing Luna fought off spell-fire as she covered an injured Seamus, who looked to be most definitely out of the fight, but moving ever so slightly.  
  
Searching the chaos, it was easy to pick out the Order, for all of Lucius' thugs were in black robes. Bill was unleashing fury on whoever was stupid enough to cross his path and Neville and Susan fought back to back right in the centre of the battle. They were the only ones I could see and in all likelihood, they had been the first wave that Remus had been able to pull together and come immediately. Unfortunately, my ward would prevent any other reinforcements.  
  
Bracing myself on a tree, I rose to my feet, still shaky, but needing to find Draco as I'd managed to lose sight of him. I gripped my wand tightly and made my way out into the open, unevenly dodging any curses that headed my way.   
  
Quickly, I sprinted the distance between where I had been standing and where Remus crouched behind a smoking tree-stump. What had happened to the rest of the tree, I didn't know, but what was left of it provided adequate cover as I slid in behind him, the snow softening my fall.  
  
“Hermione!” he shouted above the roar of the fight, as I moved to crouch beside him, throwing off a few spells of my own. “Are you alright?” I nodded and he went on to say, “Don't worry, Minerva is getting everyone else together, they'll be here soon.”  
  
“No, they won't,” I told him and then ducked beneath a vicious looking orange beam. “I put up an anti-apparition ward, so Lucius wouldn't escape.”  
  
Remus turned to me, his eyes wide. “Then that means it's just us.”  
  
“Yes,” I responded and then stood, ready to go on my way. Remus grabbed my arm and pulled me back behind the stump just as a Cruciatus soured through where I'd been. “Thanks, but now I really must run, Remus.”  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked, calling above the roar of battle.   
  
I met his eyes and informed him, “To find Draco,” then sprinted towards the side of the cottage, barely dodging a reducto that blew the wall of my home away.   
  
Still not being able to see Draco, I followed the sound of raised voices that were coming from behind the cottage, only to find my lover and his father in the midst of a heated duel. Just as I began towards them, intent on helping him out, I heard a whoosh and watched, my heart pounding, as the vile green light of the killing curse flew by my ear. Spinning to face my attacker, I felt my blood boil when I met the face of Blaise Zabini, only a few meters away.  
  
He raised his wand and smiled that twisted grin of his, “Shall we?”  
  
Deciding I'd best make short work of my former classmate, I flicked my wand up and muttered a cutting curse. I had been aiming for his chest, ready to split him in half, but he dodged and it only grazed his arm. He shot back with a crucio which I was easily able to move out of the way of, but his follow up was quick, a green beam that I had to dive and roll to miss.   
  
Rising to my knees easily, I shot out a disarming charm that I knew he would deflect and then closed the gap between us, coming up to his right side and spinning my elbow back to make contact with his nose.  
  
Zabini, like most purebloods, never expected a physical attack and I was just able to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. Cursing, he grabbed his nose with one hand and scrambled away from me, giving me the much needed to time to glance over to where Draco and Lucius were. Neither of them had their wands anymore and I briefly wondered how the hell that had happened as I watched Draco charge towards his father and swing his fist, punching the elder Malfoy directly in the jaw.  
  
I didn't see anymore as I had to return my attention to Zabini. I had him. His broken nose was bringing tears to his eyes, ensuring that his vision was blurred and every curse he threw at me was off the mark. Another, quick expelliarmus sent his wand twenty yards away and the bastard was beaten and bound with a quick, “ _Incarcerous._ ”  
  
The duel over and won, I hurriedly turned back to Draco and Lucius only to stop in shock, my blood running cold. From my vantage point, I could see the two men, standing so close they were almost touching, their eyes locked, Draco's face a myriad of emotions; anger, hatred, disbelief; and Lucius grinning in victory because embedded in Draco's side, right up to the hilt, was a dagger and blood was running down his leg and staining the pure white snow red.  
  
 _No, no, no, no, no ..._  was repeating in my mind like a mantra as I began towards them on legs that were about to collapse from underneath me. I didn't have the mind to raise my wand and kill Lucius on the spot, my sole focus was Draco and I had never been more proud of him as when he smiled right back at his father and then reached down, grabbing the knifes handle and pulling the blade from his body.   
  
Lucius didn't even have time to be shocked. The younger Malfoy, even with all of his injuries, moved fast, raising the dagger to shoulder-height and then driving it forwards, straight into his father’s chest. It would only be a matter of minutes before Lucius Malfoy was dead. He grabbed his son's arm, looking at his offspring in utter disbelief and then slowly slid down Draco's body to his knees.  
  
Draco glared at the man who had had a part in his creation and then ruined his life and reached down, gripping one of his shoulders and making sure of eye contact for a long time. Then he straightened and gave a rough shove, pushing Lucius onto his back where he would die. Draco looked at him for a moment longer as I slowly got closer to him and then stumbled back away from his sire.  
  
He looked up and saw me, a small smile flittering across his face right before his legs gave way. That snapped me into action, I bolted across the space between us and managed to slide my arm beneath his head just before he hit the ground. I knelt beside him, cradling his head in my hand and managed to give him a watery smile before turning to examine his wound.   
  
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it and was able to smile more genuinely. “It's just a flesh wound,” I told him, breathing easier. “I'll take down the anti-apparition wards and get you to Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts. She'll have you fixed up in no time.”  
  
As I reached for my wand where I'd dropped it beside me, he placed his hand over mine and stopped my movements. “Don't bother, Love,” he whispered and I turned back to meet his eyes, his pale face making me worry all over again. He glanced over at his father's body and locked his eyes onto the hilt of the dagger spiking out of his chest and then turned back to me. “Poisoned blade, Lucius never went anywhere without one.”  
  
My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to stop myself from hyperventilating by muttering one word, “Antidote?”  
  
Shaking his head he told me, “There's no time. I'm going to die, Granger and I don't want to spend the last minutes of my life trying to be saved when there's no hope. I just want to be here with you.”  
  
The tears came unbidden, fallen hotly down my cold cheeks and without a conscious thought, my head dropped to his chest, my hand clutching his shirt front tightly. I was shivering and it wasn't because of the winter weather, my heart was pounding so painfully in my chest and it was difficult to breathe.  
  
“Hey,” Draco said, lifting a hand to my cheek and making me look at him. “Don't bloody cry, Granger, it's just not you, it's not us. Swear at me, curse me, shag me, but don't bloody cry. I don't want you getting all blubbery.”  
  
It had the desired effect and I was able to give him a small smile as a tiny laugh came from my throat. Raising my head, I shook it and told him through my tears, “I'm not crying, you git, just got something in my eye.”  
  
He matched my sad smile, his hand winding around my neck and his thumb brushing along my jaw. “I should hope so, Granger. The last thing I want is to see your tears, I hate it when you cry, can't stand it. I love you so much that your tears burn into my heart.”  
  
“Now who's getting blubbery?” I asked lightly, building every ounce of will I had left and stopping my tears from falling.   
  
Draco laughed, but I could see the pain even that caused him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice only wavering slightly in its firmness. “I guess that was pretty prissy.”   
  
I ran my hand down his chest, barely able to see due to the salt water in my eyes that was blurring my vision, but still refusing to let any of them fall. I reached up and harshly wiped at the tears and then met Draco's gaze.   
  
He was smirking at me and I rolled my eyes at him, frustrated, angry that even in his last moments of life he was getting an ego boost from the tears threatening to fall down my face. I glared at him but it just made his self-satisfied look more pronounced, so once again I rolled my eyes.  
  
His smirk changed to a fond smile at the familiar action. “There's the Granger I know and love, pissed off at me is the way you should be.”  
  
“And being a cocky prick is the way you should be,” I retorted, smiling for real and then leaning down to kiss him softly. When I sat back up, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, once again having to will away the tears. He didn't want to see them, so I'd do all I could to keep them from falling.  
  
The hand on my neck moved up to stroke my cheek softly and when I finally looked at him again, he smiled and asked, “So tell me, what are you going to put on my tombstone?”  
  
He was trying to brighten the depressing mood and I appreciated that, even if the harsh reality of the words tore at me, so I played along. Without missing a beat I answered with a smirk of my own, “Greatest prat ever.”  
  
“Hmm ...” he began, putting on a thoughtful face. “I would have thought that best shag ever would be more fitting, but prat works.”  
  
His voice was fading in its strength and even though he was trying to hide it, I could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open. I loved him, of that I had no doubt anymore, and it was breaking me inside knowing I would never see those beautiful eyes again once he closed them for the last time, I would never see that arrogant smirk or hear his cocky tone of voice. All of the things that drove me insane before, I was now going to miss. It made me feel hollow.  
  
Knowing and understanding every thought that was passing through my mind, Draco opened his arm to me and I lay myself down beside him, my hand resting on his stomach, my head lying on his chest so that my ear was just above his slowly beating heart. My eyes closed of their own free will and we lay together, savouring the contact of our bodies.  
  
Gradually, so much so that I almost didn't notice, the rise and fall of his chest slowed and faded until it ceased to move. I refused to allow the tears to fall until I could no longer feel and hear his heart move beneath my ear and when I couldn't any longer ... I simply shattered.   
  
He was gone and with tears falling unstoppable from my eyes, my heart breaking and my soul pleading to join him in his next adventure, I continue to lay with him.

  



	31. Aftermath

_Numb._  
  
That's the only word I can think of to describe my condition just after Draco's death. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could remember the cold of the snow soaking through my clothes, making me shiver. I could remember briefly thinking, the thought passing through my traumatized mind, that I should take Draco inside to keep him from the cold. But I had no energy, no will to move. The moment I moved, the minute I took the time to survey my surroundings and focus on the truth of the matter, what had just occurred would be real and that was the last thing I wanted.  
  
I remember just laying there in the snow, my head on his unmoving chest, my body so empty that even the tears had stopped falling, and those that had made their way down my cheeks were now frozen where the fell. I've no recollection of how long I was there, time was unimportant and I couldn't care less how much of it had passed before I felt strong hands gripping my shoulders and a warm, comforting voice in my ear.  
  
Very little sticks out in my mind following the moment that turned my life back on its head. Somewhere, I can recall struggling against those strong hands as they tried to take me away from Draco, tightening my hold on the man I loved and protesting with all the energy I could muster against leaving him. He was too vulnerable out there in the snow by himself; he needed me, I couldn't leave him ... I wouldn't.   
  
But the fight must have drained from me eventually, because I can remember allowing the strong hands to pull me into a warm embrace. When I took the time to look back later, I knew that it was Remus holding me, just as he'd done a few years before, even if my mind was in no state to process it at the time. I knew his scent, it was comforting, and his words were soft and warm, though I can't remember what he was saying.  
  
One thing that I recall rather clearly, is a moment when I looked up from where I had my face buried in Remus' chest and watched as Bill Weasley gently picked my lover up from the ground and proceeded to take him into the cottage.   
  
I remember it so well because it was less than a moment later that I snapped.  _Draco is dead._  The words repeated themselves over and over in my mind and grief like I'd never known before enveloped me as my heart shattered.  
  
From there, my surroundings were a blur, the only thing I knew for sure was that the man I loved, the only man I had ever truly loved, was gone. From that moment for quite some time, all I knew was pain, cold and hard in its grip on me. The devastation surrounded me, closing in like a swarm of dementors, sucking all the happiness from my heart and leaving me in the cruel embrace of suffering.  
  
When I next became conscious of what was happening around me, I was in the living room of my cottage, Remus still holding me, now sitting in my chair, and light was streaming through the windows, indicating that quite some time had passed and that I'd probably fallen asleep for a few hours.   
  
McGonagall and Molly were across from us on the couch, both of them looking much older than they had the last time I'd seen them. I was numb again, I couldn't even feel the warmth from the fire that someone had lit, nor could I feel the cold from outside; all I knew was this gaping emptiness inside of me.  
  
Molly looked up and met my eyes, then without a word she stood and moved out of my line of sight. When she returned, she was holding out a hot cup of tea for me. My hands were trembling as I uncurled them from the grip I'd had on Remus' shirt and reached for the cup. Molly, seeing my struggle, closed my hands around it and then moved back to her seat across from us.   
  
I tried to thank her, but I could make no words. Taking a sip of the hot liquid, I let the tea work on relaxing the muscles in my throat before I cleared it. Still in a state of shock, I played over all that had happened in my mind, but it was with a detached sort of view, as if it hadn't happened to me.   
  
When I was finally able to speak, my voice was hoarse and so quiet that both Molly and McGonagall had to lean forward to hear me better. “Is everyone alright?”  
  
Remus stroked my hair, coaxing me to rest my head further into his chest before he answered quietly, “A few scratches and bruises, but mostly we're all fine. A little worse for wear, but alive.”  
  
“What happened?” was my next question, and I knew that those listening understood that I knew very well what had happened to me and Draco, but that I was wondering what had happened everywhere else.  
  
“We think your anti-apparition ward must have collapsed. Not long after I talked to you reinforcements arrived, after they got here it was easy to get those bastards under control, only a few escaped,” Remus was saying.  
  
Nodding, I processed the information like a calculator working on numbers, working out why the ward had fallen. It was simple, really: emotional trauma. Magic is controlled by will; you think about what you want to happen, and then channel your magic into doing it. When Draco died, not even my subconscious was thinking about maintaining the anti-apparition ward, thus, it collapsed.  
  
My next inquiry was made without a thought, “Zabini?”   
  
I wanted to hate my former classmate, if he hadn't of delayed me I would have gotten to Lucius and Draco sooner and possibly prevented my lover's death, but at that moment, I could feel nothing, not even burning rage at the Slytherin prick.  
  
McGonagall answered, “Kingsley pushed through his arrest and his hearing was over about half an hour ago, having the dark mark was more than enough evidence against him. He will receive the dementor's kiss the moment he arrives at Azkaban.”  
  
Again I felt nothing at that announcement. I supposed it was good that there would be one less Death Eater out there to cause trouble, but I simply couldn't bring myself to be satisfied. I drank some more of the tea, it was managing to have a slight calming effect, and then looked up at Remus.  
  
“How did he find us?” There was no need for me to specify who 'he' was.  
  
Remus took a deep breath and shook his head as he told me, “Draco's blood. He used an old ritual, fairly dark magic where by using the blood of the father, he was able to pinpoint the location of the son. We never even considered he would be so desperate to kill you and Draco.”  
  
Neither had I, until they'd arrived. It was our own fault really, we shouldn't have put anything past Lucius Malfoy. At least now I knew just how he'd found us, any lingering doubts that I had about Draco, not that there were many, could be put to rest. My lover had been a good man, his father had been a monster, it was as simple as that.  
  
“Was there much damage to the cottage?” I questioned, glancing to the wall where I knew a massive fireball had hit, only to see that it looked as if nothing had ever happened. If only I could believe that it didn't, but the fact that I was currently in Remus' arms and not Draco's proved that it had more than anything else could have.  
  
“A little,” Molly nodded and then gave me a small smile. “But it's already been repaired, Neville and Luna did it before they left.”  
  
It warmed me somewhat, that they would do that for me and I nodded, trying my best to return her smile before dropping my gaze to the cup in my hands. “Remind me to thank them,” I mumbled into my tea.  
  
A strangled sound from Molly's direction made me look up again and there were tears in her eyes, but her expression was hopeful. “Does that mean ...” She paused and shook her head, then met my gaze and asked quietly, “You won't be running away again, will you dear? You'll stay and let your family be here for you?”  
  
Thoughts such as that hadn't even crossed my mind, so I had to take a moment to think about it. It didn't take long. I knew that I had to stay this time, that I probably should have last time. So, with a smile that was undoubtedly more convincing than my last, I shook my head and told all three of them, “No, I won't run.”  
  
Both Molly and McGonagall seemed pleased with my answer and I felt Remus release a sigh of relief. If my time with Draco had taught me anything, it's that you heal better when surrounded by people who love you. I'd done more healing in the short few months I'd spent with him than I had in all three years I'd been by myself.   
  
 _Oh, Draco .._. My mind lingered on him for a long moment and although I couldn't feel them, I knew that tears were slipping unbidden down my face. A stab of pain shot through me, the first thing I'd felt in some time, so strong that it was almost enough to break me once more, but I violently pushed it aside and asked my next question into my tea. “Where is Draco's body?”  
  
There was a long moment of silence before McGonagall answered, “We put him in your spare room. When the Ministry was informed what had happened, they had wanted him, but Kingsley fought hard against it ... he thought he owed it to both you and Draco. And since the Ministry have no idea where you are, and none of us were telling them, there was little they could do about it.”  
  
“I should thank him too,” I told them, nodding. My next words were spoken in somewhat of a daze, the full reality of what had happened not yet sinking in enough yet for me to completely understand how much the words should hurt. “I'd like to bury Draco myself, I can't stand the thought of him in a Ministry cemetery.”   
  
Our last words to each other flashed through my mind and I couldn't stop the bubbling laugh that slipped from my throat, which managed to turn into a slight sob. “He asked me what I was going to put on his tombstone,” I explained to those listening, though I barely even felt as if they were there with me. “I told him 'greatest prat ever'. He thought best shag would be more fitting ...” Trailing off, I continued staring down into my tea, a small and sad smile on my face. Shaking my head, I muttered, “Trust him to joke in his last moments of life.”  
  
Remus kissed my hair and chuckled lightly, commenting, “Sounds like young Draco had the heart of a Marauder.”  
  
Tears were rolling down my cheeks, but my smile was genuine. “At times, yes, he did,” I said, then slipped into silence again, pondering the man I had loved so truly. “I'm so glad I got to see that side of him,” were my next whispered words as I kept studying the cooling liquid in my mug.  
  
It all seemed so surreal, my mind knowing that he was gone, talking about him in the past tense. How was it even possible that I would not see his cocky smile again? That I wouldn't hear his laughter, or feel his kiss?   
  
It was so difficult to comprehend that just yesterday had been the last time he had touched me, held me, the last time I had felt his body move against mine, heard him whisper moaned words of love in my ear as we shuddered in ecstasy together, our souls touching in that moment of such pure pleasure and love. So little time had passed and my entire world had once more been flipped upside down.  
  
“How can this be real?” I asked, my tone tortured, as I lifted my head from Remus' chest slightly so I could look around at the sad faces of my elders, hoping against hope that they would have an answer for me, or some kind of profound words that would make the pain that was filtering back into my body go away.   
  
After a long moment of disbelief, I shook my head and dropped it back to Remus' chest, burying my face into his shirt. My entire body was shuddering from the emotions swirling throughout me once more as I questioned, not even realizing that I was speaking out loud, “How the bloody hell could this have happened? Just yesterday, he was here with me, loving me and now ... how can this be real?”  
  
My last words were barely a whisper as the tears began to fall again and my body started to shake with sobs once more. My mind struggled for answers, trying to wrap itself around the reality of it, while my heart steadfastly refused to.   
  
After a few moments, I attempted to compose myself, taking a few deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I then leaned forward and placed my cup onto the coffee table before looking up at the concerned faces with me and telling them determinedly, “I need to see his body.”  
  
“Hermione --” Remus started, but I quickly cut him off with an upraised hand.  
  
“No, Remus, I need to see his body. I need to ... to make sure that all of this is real,” I told him, waving my hand to indicate the reality I was being told I was in.  
  
Still, the lycan protested, “You saw him last night, Hermione, you watched him die, held onto his body. Wasn't that enough? You shouldn't put yourself through more.”  
  
“I wasn't exactly in a fit frame of mind to comprehend what had happened last night, Remus,” I snapped, glaring at him.   
  
About to say more, I suddenly stopped when McGonagall's question brought me up short of a reasonable answer, “And you think you're in the right state of mind now?”  
  
Slumping, I shook my head and rubbed my eyes with one hand. “No, I'm not, but ... I want to bury him soon. First though, I need to come to terms with the fact that he's ... that he's gone and then I need to say goodbye.”  
  
Neither McGonagall or Remus spoke for some time, in fact it was Molly who broke the silence. “He's in your spare room, Hermione, we won't stop you.” All three of us looked up at the Weasley matron, the other two shooting her a brief glare of disapproval. She met their looks head on and stated, in a tone that gave no room for argument, “The girl has just lost her lover, the least we can do to help her is to honour her request and allow her to say goodbye.”  
  
Of course, she understood. She too had once lost the man she had loved, when Arthur had been killed during the war. She'd been through what I was going through and at that moment, I was more thankful for Molly Weasley's understanding than I'd ever been for anything else in my life.  
  
After a moment, the other two gave small nods and then Remus helped me to my feet. My legs were shaky as I began towards the hallway, giving Molly a look of gratitude as I passed.   
  
Just outside of the spare room, I paused, my hand fluttering over the doorknob for a long minute as I steeled my resolve. Then, with one final deep breath and a silent plead to my aching heart, to please, please don't give out on me, I turned the handle and pushed the door open.  
  
I kept my eyes on the ground as I took a few steps inside and then closed the door behind me, but they were drawn to the bed eventually and I had to look up. I sucked in a deep, quick breath when I did, as I saw him for the first time.   
  
He looked so peaceful, more so than I'd ever seen him before, no lines crinkling his face at all. If it hadn't been for the fact that his chest was unmoving, I would have thought he was just in a very deep and peaceful sleep.  
  
Slowly, taking it a step at a time and fighting back sobs the closer I got, I made my way to his side and sat down on the edge of the bed. I raised my hand, reaching out to touch the side of his face, only to quickly withdraw it, the coldness of his skin like a snakebite. A second later, the tears came in a rush, pouring down my face, and my chest started heaving as it was ripped open once more.   
  
Of its own free will, my head dropped to the crook of his neck, my tears wetting his cold skin and without even attempting to stop it, I was letting out all of my suffering. The pain and grief came from my body in loud, wailing sobs, my entire frame shaking violently with loss. Salt was poured upon my raw heart and I gripped the shirt Draco was in, clawed at the dead flesh beneath it as I unwillingly mourned over his body.  
  
I can't really describe the pain one feels as they sob over the body of a dead lover. I can say that I would rather suffer the Cruciatus for hours on end, than have my entire soul ripped to shreds in such a way.   
  
In a way it was like drowning; my entire body ached against the struggle to stay afloat, my chest constricted so tightly that breathing was painful, difficult. There simply wasn't enough air and what little I could draw in was knocked out of me with the force of a bludger to the stomach. The urge to vomit was strong, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of being swamped in the pain of a shattered heart.  
  
He was gone. Just as suddenly as he'd returned to my life, just as suddenly as he'd drawn me towards him and taken my love, he'd left and it felt as if he'd taken the beating organ that was currently withering inside my chest with him. I was bereft of any happiness at all, grief had engulfed me and I was left with little will to go on without him beside me.  
  
It may have been hours later that I finally lifted my head and wiped at my eyes, trying as hard as I could to calm myself, to get my erratic breathing under control. I looked down at his face, determined to memorize his features one last time, trying to coax my heart into accepting what had happened.   
  
Draco was dead, he wasn't coming back and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to change that. I needed to accept it, but my trembling soul was unwilling.  
  
I knew, from experience, that it would in time, that I would just have to mourn my way through the muddied waters of loss until I was able to fully control myself, but in that moment, as I looked upon his face for the final time, it seemed that that time, when I could think of him and smile instead of break down in tears, would be an eternity away.  
  
Even with all of my pain, I knew what I had to do. I once more raised my trembling hand to his face and traced his features for a moment, the tears coming quietly now. Then I leaned down and kissed his cold lips. I wouldn't say the word, I wouldn't farewell him just yet, I needed more time, I wasn't ready, but with that final act of love, I just hoped that he knew he would always have my heart.  
  
It was difficult to leave him, but I stood anyway, knowing that this body was no longer the man I had loved. He was elsewhere now and anymore time with the frame that had housed his soul would simply be a waste. My legs were shaky, my eyes struggled to leave his face, but somehow I made it to the door and with one final look at my departed love, I opened it and left the room.  
  
We buried him late in the afternoon of the next day, beneath the willow he had loved to sit beneath so much, by the lake he had swam in during warmer months. What was left of the Order of the Phoenix came, paying respects to him, all of them now knowing for certain what kind of man he had been. And although they didn't say it, I knew they were also there to show their silent support for me, to tell me in actions that they were my family, and they were there for me.   
  
Even though I hadn't really thought about it, I decided as Neville levitated Draco's cotton-wrapped body into the ground, that despite what had happened in this place, I would not be leaving my cottage. This was where my memories of Draco were, this was where I had found peace, and this was where we had buried the man I loved. It really was home and although a part of me wanted to run, to forget all that had happened here, I'd never leave it, and I'd never leave Draco.

  



	32. Forwards

Three weeks had passed. Three agonizing weeks since I had lost the only man I had ever truly loved. Days were composed of some kind of walking nightmare, where I would always expect Draco to stagger into the kitchen demanding coffee, or smirk at me before taking my hand and leading me out to sit beneath the willow by the lake, where we had wiled away so many hours simply talking.  
  
The nights were by far the worst of it, though. During the day, I usually had someone there to take my mind off of things. Luna, Neville and Susan would alternate between each other to keep me company, Remus arrived every afternoon at around the same time, after his classes had finished, and Molly Weasley arrived every couple of days to cook up a storm in my kitchen, ensuring that I wouldn't starve.  
  
But at night, they all went back to their respective homes, and I was left with nothing more than darkness, memories, and the scent of Draco on my sheets. I would try so hard to get myself to sleep, but after only a few hours every night, I would find myself pleading with the night to bring him back to me, or in the very least, to fill the gaping wound in my heart. Each night I cried myself to sleep, only to find myself waking, screaming for him, hours later and repeating the process until the sun rose over the mountains.  
  
Despite all of my begging and crying, I was still alone come each morning and I knew I always would be. He was gone, I was accepting that. It was time for me to try and heal my shattered soul because no god or deity would be bringing him back to my arms. Besides, I had other things I needed to think about now, I could no longer simply dwell on what had been and what I had lost.  
  
Sitting on the bench that Bill and Fred had installed under the willow tree, I looked down upon the white marker that had been placed above Draco's final resting place. From the direction of the cottage, I could hear Remus bustling about the kitchen making coffee, but it was a distant distraction, as all of my thoughts and focus were on the words inscribed in the beautiful ivory marble a few meters from my feet.   
  
Deciding where to bury Draco had been the easy part. I knew exactly where he would want to rest for all time, just as I knew that one day, I would want to be buried beside him. The hardest part was figuring out how to sum up one man's life on a marble marker. All in all, I think he would approve of what I finished with. Carefully carved out in the stone was:   
  
 _1981 - 2005  
Draco Lucius Malfoy   
Friend, Lover, and Warrior   
Great Prat, Great Shag, Great Man_

 __  
It was a touch on the crude side, not what one normally sees on a gravestone, but for him it seemed to fit. I knew that wherever he was, he was getting a kick out of it. We'd only been joking with each other the day he died, but when the time had come for me to write something to mark the place where his body would forever lie, it had felt right and Remus agreed.  
  
I had considered adding a quote, something about how I'd meet him in eternity, but knew he'd have disapproved of such a mushy gesture, despite them coming right from my heart. He wouldn't like them because he'd know that I wanted to meet him there sooner rather than later, and he would have been right.  
  
There was only one thing stopping me from dropping straight back into that painful depression that I'd been in right after the war, something I'd only just discovered and was so thankful for. Well, two things if I counted the fact that Draco himself would be downright pissed at me if I gave up on my life, like I yearned to do during the nights when I attempted to sleep in a bed that was lacking his warmth.   
  
Remus appeared beside me, sitting his tired old bones on the bench and passing me a cup of coffee. I took the mug, letting the hot liquid it contained heat my hands and for a long while the two of us simply sat in companionable silence, staring at the stone in front of us, reflecting on all that had been.   
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Remus' gaze drifted away from Draco's tombstone to take in the snow covered surroundings, as he'd been doing each and every visit since that fateful night. “This place is beautiful,” he commented, not for the first time. “I understand why you stayed here by yourself for so long, now that I've seen it. It gives one a remarkable sense of peace.”  
  
I couldn't have agreed more. Even after the battle that had raged here, that had taken Draco from my life, the cottage and all that was around it was still a remarkably peaceful place and I was briefly reminded of why I had come here to start with.   
  
Deciding the fact needed no further comment, I started another conversation, telling him, “Minerva offered me a job, teaching Charms next school year.”  
  
Remus looked at me, a smile coming across his scarred face. “I can't think of anyone who would be better for the job.” Then he paused and his smile faded somewhat as he studied me for a few seconds before speaking again, “You aren't going to take it?”  
  
It was posed as a question, but he already knew. “No, but not for the reasons you're thinking,” I informed him, giving a small smile of my own.  
  
“You really aren't going to leave us again, then?” he asked quietly. “Last time ... You're pretty much all I have left, Hermione. I know you've been through a lot, but I want to be here to help you. I wanted to after the war, but you were gone and I couldn't.”  
  
Taking his hand, I turned to face him, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I'm not leaving again, Remus, I already told you that. You can be here for me now, I'm going to need you.”  
  
“I know,” he said, squeezing my hand and nodding. “After I lost Nymph ... it's always so much harder when it's the person you're in love with, the person you've given your heart to. I'll stay right here with you, Hermione, for as long as you'll have me around.” Pausing, he looked back down at Draco's marker and then asked, “Is that why you aren't taking the job? If it is, I think you should reconsider. By the time next September rolls around ... well, it does become easier with time.”  
  
I also looked back towards Draco's tombstone, but shook my head as I responded, “That's not it, Remus, it's ... well, let's just say that by next September, I'll have a lot on my hands.” He looked at me again, confused, so I dropped my head, bit my lip and tried to explain. “It's not just about Draco, Remus ... I ... well, I did the charm yesterday to confirm it ... I'm pregnant.”  
  
That was the first time I'd said it out loud. I'd had a little time to think about it, and it was still a complete shock to me, but then it probably shouldn't have been. The sexual relationship between Draco and I had started out so fast and rushed that neither of us had given any thought to things such as birth control, and briefly, I was thankful for that, because I'd just been given a reason to get up of a morning, a reason to go on living without Draco.   
  
He was gone, but he'd left me with a remarkable gift, he'd left me with the child that was already starting to become the love of my life. He'd given me my heart back.  
  
Glancing up at Remus, worried about what his reaction might be, I saw him staring at me with wide-eyed shock. After a moment, he took a breath and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest.   
  
“Oh, Hermione,” he breathed into my hair, holding me tightly. After a minute he released me enough so that we could meet each others eyes and then gave a small smile, “Then, if you'd like, I'll be here the whole time.”  
  
“I would like that, Remus,” I responded, reaching up to kiss his cheek and then settling back into his arm. “There's something else that I'd like to ask.” With tears in my eyes, I cleared my throat and questioned, somewhat nervously, “I was wondering if maybe ... well, I have a spare bedroom, I wondered if you'd maybe like to move into the cottage. If Draco taught me anything, it was that having someone around each and every day is a good thing and I think it would be helpful to both of us.”  
  
“I'd be more than happy to, Hermione,” Remus responded with only a moments thought, tears in his own eyes as he squeezed me tighter to him. It was quite a few minutes before either of us spoke again, both of us simply absorbing the comfort of each others company as we looked down upon Draco's marker. “So,” he began after a long while. “You're having his baby.”  
  
With a sad laugh, I nodded. “Scary, isn't it?” I questioned, and then went on, not needing a response, “If anyone had of told me I'd be in this position a few months ago ... I would have hexed them. But now ... I love him, Remus, of that I have no doubt and I haven't had much time to comprehend the whole situation, but I do know that it's rather amazing. To think that Draco and I, two people who once despised each other, have managed to create life together with nothing more than love and sweat and misplaced DNA in the middle of the night ...” I trailed off, shaking my head. “Well, it's all rather amazing, I think.”  
  
I simply let the tears fall unbidden at this point and when I glanced at Remus I saw that there were tears in his eyes as well, along with a smile. He took my hand, squeezing it tightly in his before directing his gaze back to the grave.   
  
“I agree,” he said quietly, contemplatively. Then he looked back at me and grinned broadly, “You'll be a wonderful mother, Hermione.”  
  
Not all too sure about that, and lacking his confidence in me, I didn't comment on the remark, instead just smiling back and responding, “And I think you'll turn out to be a wonderful grandfather, Remus.”  
  
Shock fluttered across his face for a moment before a wide grin split it, happiness like I'd never seen on him before filling his eyes, ten years of age seeming to leave his face. He grabbed me, pulling me into a tight hug, his own tears falling onto my shoulder and soaking through my jumper. I hugged him back just as tightly, so thankful that he decided to stay with me through this, through everything.   
  
When we pulled away from each other, he was still grinning and after slapping his hand on his thigh, much to my amusement, he stood. When I looked at him questioningly, my smile fading somewhat, he informed me, “I'm going to go and get all of my stuff, bring it here. You'll be alright on your own for a bit?”  
  
Nodding, I stood and kissed him on the cheek, “I'll be fine, old man. But do hurry back.”  
  
His silly grin never once faded as he nodded and disapparated, leaving me alone under the willow tree by the lake once more. A chilly breeze rushed around me and I rubbed my arms, taking a deep breath of the fresh air before moving the few steps needed until I was in front of Draco's tombstone. I knelt in the thinning snow, running my hand over the fine stone, the smile on my face long gone.   
  
I lost myself in thoughts of him for a long while, wondering how he would react to the news of my pregnancy, thinking about what would be different if he’d been here at this moment. It was still such an open wound, I was still crying myself to sleep each night, but I now knew that I would get past this loss. I may never heal, the scars would always be on my heart, but I would be able to go on.  
  
I'm not sure how long I was there in front of him on my knees, but the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon when I finally came back to the real world. Kissing my fingertips, I placed them over his name and whispered, “I love you, Draco.”  
  
Standing, I slowly walked back to the cottage, seeing that the lights were already on inside, meaning that I'd been out in front of the marker for so long that Remus had had time to pack and return.   
  
When I walked through the back door, he was in the kitchen, already preparing dinner. I decided to help him, seeing that I hadn't had to prepare a meal for myself since that night, as Molly had left enough food in my fridge to feed a small army.  
  
He looked up as I walked to his side and picked up a knife to assist, his face concerned. “You seemed busy when I got back, I didn't want to disturb you,” he told me and then asked, “Are you alright?”  
  
Honestly, I didn't know. The pain was still raw, but there was a light at the end of this tunnel. The situation was desperate, but not hopeless. “I'm not sure, Remus, but I think that, with time, I'm going to be just fine.”  
  
And I believed it.

  



	33. Epilogue

She leaned back, away from her desk, tears pouring down her face as she reread the last few lines of what she'd just written. With a trembling hand, she pulled the piece of paper from the typewriter and added it to the rather large pile of others that were at her elbow and then she released a shuddering breath of relief. It was over and she could finally put it all behind her, she could finally allow the memories to be just that; memories.  
  
Taking a moment to contemplate it all, she already felt lighter. Her personal purging process had once again helped take the weight of her experiences from her shoulders and after ten whole months of writing, months in which she knew she had neglected both herself and her family, months in which she had struggled with the memories that still haunted her and with a depression that made her fragile, her book was written and it was time to continue forward, time to allow herself to completely move on, time to heal.  
  
It would probably take another couple of weeks at least until she built up the strength to send it to her publisher, but that didn't matter, her part of the experience was over. She only hoped that now the people would come to see the man she had written about for who he truly was, that she had managed to banish all misconceptions about him so that they could understand that he was a good man who had given his life in his attempt to keep their world at peace.  
  
Standing, she stretched, causing bones that had been abused for quite some time to crack and groan in response. Then, with a final look at the stack of paper on her desk, she walked towards the door, pausing only momentarily to glance at the bed. It was the same bed she had suffered through nightmares, the same bed she had shared with the only man she had ever loved, the same bed her daughter had been conceived in, the same bed where she had mourned for her loss.  
  
Shaking off the thoughts, she left the room and went into the bathroom, hesitating at the mirror to study herself a moment, something she wouldn't have been able to do a lifetime ago. There were deep bags under her eyes, and her skin was tight and drawn. She looked like death warmed up, but there was something in her brown eyes, something that had been missing for a long time and had only just come home.  
  
Without warning, a laugh escaped her throat, which suddenly turned to a sob. But this was no longer the cry of someone in pain; it was the cry of a woman who had suffered, yes, but was now able to feel the shredded pieces of her soul slowly coming back together. The sob that had been torn from her throat was one of relief.  
  
She shook her head and allowed it to wash over her for a moment before she dropped her face from the mirror above the sink and turned the water on. The cold liquid felt good as it splashed over her skin and she revelled in it for a long while before a loud, excited squeal from the kitchen drew her attention. After drying her face, she left the bathroom in search for the source.  
  
What she found in her kitchen was one very happy little girl being twirled around in the arms of the man who, although not biologically, was most certainly her granddad. Both of them were grinning broadly, laughing loudly and the little girl was clutching tightly to a piece of parchment in her hand.   
  
Leaning against the arch in between the living room and kitchen, she crossed her arms and observed them for a moment before her curiosity got the better of her. “What's all this then?” she questioned and watched, amused, as both turned to her suddenly.  
  
The elder man put the little girl down and she bolted towards the woman, stopping suddenly only a foot away and flicking a few strands of curly, blonde hair from her eyes as she looked up, her smile still splitting her face.   
  
She held the parchment up and exclaimed excitedly and in a rush, “I got my Hogwarts letter, Mum!”  
  
Eyes widening, the woman took the piece of parchment the girl was frantically waving around and read it over, realizing what the pair was so excited about. With a smile of her own blossoming, the woman looked back to the girl, her unstable emotional state putting tears in her eyes. She'd consciously known that it wouldn't be long before her daughter received her letter, but somehow, to her, the years had passed by all too quickly.  
  
Leaning over, she hugged the girl to her tightly, attempting to compose herself enough to reign in the tears that were threatening to fall. “That's wonderful, sweetie,” she said honestly and quickly before her throat could clog up. “I'm so proud of you.”  
  
When she pulled away, the child grinned up at her and then took the letter back. “Do you think I should go tell Daddy?”  
  
A pang of loss pulled at her heart and she had to fight even harder against her tears as she took a small hand in her own and led her to the back door, kneeling down to the girls level once they got there and saying sincerely, “Oh, I definitely think you should go tell your father, this would make him very happy.”  
  
With another wide smile, the little girl kissed her cheek and then ran out the door, down the stairs and over the grass to where her father lay. Biting her trembling lip, the woman watched her go and then closed her eyes tightly. A strong hand on her shoulder made her reopen them and look up, into the warm eyes of the man who for a number of years now had been her father, her guide, and her strength.  
  
He gave her the smallest of smiles, but his face was concerned. “Well?” was all he said, but she knew what he wanted to know.  
  
“It's done,” she answered quietly and he squeezed her shoulder. Rising to her feet, she glanced back out the door and wondered aloud, “Where has all the time gone?”  
  
Laughing, he swung his arm over her shoulder and started steering her through the back door and towards where her daughter knelt in front of a white, marble marker, saying, “I've been asking myself that question for many years and I've yet to discover an answer.”  
  
The rest of the trip to the bench under a massive willow tree was spent in silence and when the two sat, nothing more was said as they simply observed the little girl speaking to her fathers grave. The woman let her mind wander as she read the inscription on the tombstone, back to a time she had just spent months revisiting and to the man who was still the only man she had ever been in love with.  
  
She wondered, not for the first time, what he would say if he were here now. She imagined he would be smothering their daughter in praise, swinging her around in excitement as the other man had done.   
  
And what of them? She smiled to herself at that thought, but there was sadness in it, a hint of dreams that would never be. They would have been happy, she knew. They still would have argued and there would have been bad times, but had he of been alive, they would have been right where he said they would be; in this place, together.  
  
In a sense, she knew he was still here. She could still feel him close by, his presence deep within both she and their daughter. She'd told her daughter of him from when she was old enough to understand such things, explained to the best of her ability what kind of man he had been and when the little girl had gotten upset over the fact that she would never meet her father, she had told her that all she needed to do was look in the mirror, for he was there, inside of her, always with her.  
  
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts as her daughter got up and came over to the bench, her face tinged with such innocent sadness. She turned grey eyes on her mother and whispered her question, “Would he be proud of me too?”  
  
The tears blossomed in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall as she reached out and took the girls hand, squeezing it tightly and saying in a choked voice, “He would have been the proudest daddy in the whole world.” And she meant it. She'd had a lot of time to think about what kind of father he would have been, and 'proud' was right at the top of the list.   
  
Slowly, a watery smile came across the girls face and she turned to her grandfather, who quickly reached out and scooped her up into his arms, settling her on his lap. All three of their gazes drifted back to the marble marker and there was a long silence before the girl’s voice broke it again, “I wish he were here.”  
  
Reaching over, the woman brushed a strand of hair from the child's face and gave her a soft, shaky smile, “So do I, baby.”  
  
“But he is,” the man said brightly, his eyes also showing his own sadness, but his smile and voice lifting their spirits, in that way that only he could manage. “Don't you remember? The one's that love us never really leave us.”  
  
Smiling her thanks to him, the woman then let her attention turn back to the tombstone and the man whose life was carved into it. Absently, she heard her daughter asking her granddad if her Hogwarts letter meant she would finally get the wand she’d been asking for since she could talk, but she drifted away from the rest of the conversation as her mind wandered.  
  
She'd been many things in her life; daughter and mother, star student and war heroine, powerful witch and popular author, friend and lover. She'd done so many things throughout her years, experienced so much, but nothing had ever compared to what she'd found with him, or what he'd left her with. Nothing had impacted her quite as much as the time they had been together and the love they had shared.  
  
He'd been in her life for as long as she'd known what she truly was, but he'd been on the wrong side of things and they'd never discovered what they could have had until much later. There was a time that she thought, and hoped, she’d never see him again, many years ago, but then in the quickest of flashes he'd arrived on her doorstep, and at some point in the time that followed they'd found their hearts in each other, but then he'd left just as suddenly as he’d came.  
  
Just after his death, she'd thought he was gone, forever, but with years to patch her wounds and come to terms with the loss, she'd realized that what had just been said was most definitely true. The one's that love us are always with us, no matter what. She knew he'd never leave, for she could feel him, right there inside her heart.  
  
He'd once described the pair of them as runaways, two people who fled from what they knew and the people in their lives, searching for solace in silence and solitude. But when they had been joined, they had given each other the strength needed to stop their mad dash from the world. They had turned back, ready to face what would come, holding onto each other in the turmoil that came when one stood in not only the face of desperate times and a troubled world, but when they were standing up to each other, and more importantly, to themselves.  
  
And even though he was now physically gone, he had managed to keep her grounded, had given her what she needed to face reality and let people back into her heart, had been the one who had stopped her from running again. He had taught her that although the one's we love can be taken from us, they leave us with something so special that it’s worth every ounce of pain.   
  
That lesson gave her the peace she had searched for after years of grief and it was something she never would have known, never would have allowed herself to understand before he returned to her life, before he’d halted her frantic flee, before he’d loved her, before he’d made himself a part of her; after he'd left his pebbles in the bottom of her lake.  
  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
